


Leagues Away and Scattered by the Wind

by sadladybug



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Light Smut, PaintedBlue, canon-compliant(ish), spans into the LOK universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3103013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadladybug/pseuds/sadladybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two days ago, when Zuko had handed her a neatly folded stack of black clothing, Katara hadn't even thought twice about putting it on. It was all just part of the mission, just another necessary part of tracking down the monster who had murdered her mother. She could not have anticipated how this singular event would ripple across the years, and how quickly shared history could shift into shared understanding and blur the boundaries of friendship, forging and strengthening a bond that would last a lifetime. </p><p>Moments spanning over the course of decades, Katara POV, canon-compliant(ish) Zutara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for jesterry for the 2013 Zutara Secret Santa Exchange on lj. See notes at the end of the story for an explanation of prompts. Enjoy!

There is a hole in her sleeve.

Well, it wasn’t _her_ sleeve, not technically. Two days ago, when Zuko had handed her a neatly folded stack of black clothing, she hadn’t even thought twice about putting it on. It was all just part of the mission, just another necessary part of tracking down the monster who had murdered her mother. She had not, could not, _would_ not think about the length of his limbs as she had adjusted the belt around her waist in an attempt to keep the hem from brushing past her knees, and she certainly had not lingered on past memories of his closeness which were conjured when she had taken a deep breath after adjusting the mask over her face. There simply wasn’t time for such foolishness; they had a task to complete. There was no time for these thoughts in her head as her hands had woven through the air, water and blood at her command, no space for these thoughts when she had stopped the rain.

There was also no space for those thoughts later as she sat in silence near the campfire, though for an entirely different reason. The anger and hurt that had driven her for the past two days had vanished, and a relentless stream of what-ifs and whys had rushed in to fill the void. The questions and thoughts came too fast for her to analyze in any depth as they imploded against her consciousness. She felt ashamed when she remembered the words she said to her brother before she left and the look on Aang’s face as she insisted on the merits of revenge. She was disgusted when she imagined having to report to the others tomorrow that she couldn’t follow through, and even more frustrated by the thought that she may not be able to explain why. Worst of all, she has to try to understand that her mother didn’t just simply die in a raid, she died _for her_. That sacrifice suddenly made everything make sense and yet left so many questions in its wake. Everything was confusing. She despised the monster and always would, but the energy behind the hatred was shifting. She didn’t know whether she should feel relived or scared to lose something so familiar.

She thought she heard someone call her name, but it was if it were coming from across the sea, leagues away and scattered by the wind. She ignores it. But when she hears it again, louder this time, she pulls herself out of her thoughts long enough to look up.

Zuko sits not far from her, a curious look on his face and a cup in his hand. “I said, would you like some tea?”

She doesn’t, really, but she nods and reaches for the cup anyway.

It is in this moment, as she reaches for the cup, when she sees it: the strip of blue peeking through the torn sleeve of her borrowed robe. She tugs experimentally at a loose thread, but the pressure only widens the gap and she quickly pulls her hand away as she feels the threads separate.

She stares at the tear. It isn’t much, and in comparison to the events of the past two days it is nothing at all. But in that moment it is one more thing that is damaged, one more thing that is all her fault, one more thing to feel sorry for. The ragged edges of the fabric blur in her vision as something inside her cracks and falls away, and she feels the emotion that she had been holding in start to leak down the sides of her face. She feels ridiculous that _this_ is the thing that finally sends her over the edge, and she tries to stop it, to tell herself that she’s overreacting. But all of her efforts are for nothing, and in fact seem to just make it worse. Her nose is running now, but she obviously can’t wipe it on a sleeve that isn’t hers. She tries to sniff quietly, not to draw attention, but in this she fails too: Zuko hears it and his head swings in her direction.

“Katara?”

The way he starts to lean toward her but stops short makes her heart ache. There is no way to articulate how she feels in this moment, so she defaults to gesturing at her arm helplessly. “I ruined your clothes.”

He looks relieved. “Oh. That’s okay. They’re just clothes.”

“It’s not okay!” The volume of her voice surprises them both, and Zuko flinches. She hadn’t meant to snap at him, and the look on his face is just another thing to regret. She cries harder and buries her head in her hands.

She hears him rummage around in his bag, and through her fingers she can see him inch closer and crane his neck to inspect her arm. “Can I see?”

She takes her hands away from her face and wipes her tears with the inside of one wrist. She holds out her arm and he tentatively examines the fabric before reaching into his lap to pull out a small sewing kit. She watches as he selects a needle but looks away when he moistens the thread between his lips. She holds her arm in place as he starts to make slow, careful stitches, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Her tears dry as she studies him. This was certainly not the response she was expecting. And maybe it’s the pressure of the past two days, or maybe it’s the lack of sleep and the emotional exhaustion, but in this moment her mind conjures up images of when they first met, his hair in a high ponytail and his armor sharp and bulky. It is this version of Zuko that she pictures now before her: the angry, scowling, shouting Prince of the Fire Nation, who is now pulling a needle and thread methodically through her sleeve. She tries to think of something else, but the thought of it is so utterly bizarre that she snorts loudly in an effort to hold back her laughter. Her free hand shoots to cover her mouth in embarrassment, and she stares at him with wide eyes.

He looks up mid-stitch. “What?”

The look of confusion on his face is her undoing, and her emotions now come bubbling out in the form of shrieking laughter. She tries to explain herself as she gasps for air. “It’s just – you're sewing my sleeve! – and you used to have this weird hair – and – “ She can’t take it anymore, she stops trying to explain it and just revels in the stretch of her face as she smiles and the ache in her sides as she laughs.

He narrows his eyes at her. “Are you okay?” She can’t speak for the laughter, but she nods. He moves to resumes his work, but then stops and raises his only eyebrow. “Wait - I had weird hair?”

She nods and her giggles wind down as she wipes a different breed of tears from her eyes. “Of course you did! Back when – “ _when you wanted to save me from the pirates_ – “When you still had your ship.”

His hands still, so quick she almost misses it, and he blows a stray piece of his bangs out of his eyes before he resumes. “Oh. Right.”

She feels she has hit a nerve somehow, but she refuses to add this to her list of mistakes. Not now, when she suddenly feels so light. Impulsively, she reaches out and tousles his hair. “I like it better this way, anyway.”

It may just be a trick of the firelight, but she thinks she sees color rise in his cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, and seems to focus more intently on her sleeve as he makes the final stitches. He ties off the thread and uses his teeth to cut the end. “Okay, it should be fine now.”

She inspects the sleeve as he settles a respectable distance away from her. It isn’t perfect; some of the stitches are crooked or too long, but the hole is gone and she feels that it will last. “You fixed it! Thank you.” She smiles and gestures to the kit in his hand. “Good thing you had that.”

He gives her a small smile and shrugs while he puts it away. “It’s always important to be prepared.”

She examines his handiwork a little further, noticing the quality of the cloth for the first time as she rubs it between her fingers. “Good thing you had these clothes, too. They were great for sneaking around.” A stray thought occurs to her and she vocalizes it. “Wait, why did you have these in the first place?”

He stiffens and looks away. “It’s not important…Let’s just get some rest.” He reaches for his sleeping bag and crawls into it. There is something almost comical about the speed at which he does this, and his back hits the ground with a soft thump. He folds his hands over his chest and shuts his eyes.

His abrupt avoidance of the question only makes her more curious, so she persists. “What, did you think you’d need to be doing a lot of sneaking around when you joined us?”

His eyes remain closed. “No.”

She waits for him to elaborate, but nothing but silence follows. She tries again. “So you just happened to pack black clothes? I mean, isn’t there some rule that people from the Fire Nation always have to wear red?”

“No.”

She grins at him. “Is that your favorite word, ‘no’?”

He sits up and offers her a long-suffering look but she can see his lips curl up slightly on one side. He rolls his eyes. “No. I brought them because they’d been useful in the past, so I just thought they might be useful again. That’s all.”

She throws her hands up dramatically. “What does that even mean? Why does everything with you have to be such a secret?!”

She was only half-serious, but the look he gives her is frightened and his palms come out in supplication. “No. Wait. It’s not really a secret…or maybe it is, but it’s not something that would affect you, I mean…”

Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline before settling into a scowl. “Wait, there really _is_ a secret? You’d better tell me what it is! How am I ever supposed to trust you if you’re keeping secrets from me?!”

His eyes are pleading. "Just because you don't know everything about me doesn't mean you can't trust me."

She snorts. "With _your_ track record? I don't know if I could trust you even if I _did_ know everything about you! But I can't decide until I do. So spill it."

He runs a hand through his hair. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” She crosses her arms and continues to scowl at him. He lets out a long breath. “Fine. Did you ever see those wanted posters for the Blue Spirit?”

She nods and waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He just gives her a level stare and waits. She doesn’t know why he just won’t tell her and get it over with. Finally, he huffs and flicks his eyes down to his own black clothing and then back at her. Then it clicks.

“Wait – are you trying to say that you stole these clothes from the Blue Spirit?”

The sound of his hand hitting his forehead reverberates through the forest. “What? Are you…. No, I didn’t steal them from the Blue Spirit! I _am_ the Blue Spirit!”

She would feel embarrassed for saying something so absurd, but the shock from this revelation outweighs it. “You? _You’re_ the Blue Spirit?"

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Or at least I was. I kind of threw the mask away when I left Ba Sing Se. Right after I freed Appa under Lake Laogai, actually.”

She quietly considers this. The longer she thinks about it the more she can picture it. He _is_ sneaky, and he _is_ skilled with those swords. There’s only one thing that doesn’t fit.

“But I thought that the Blue Spirit is an enemy of the Fire Nation. I know you’re on our side now, but those posters were up before we even reached the North Pole. How is that possible?”

He turns from her and looks at the fire. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh.” She can sense that he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, and the look on his face makes her feel guilty. She doesn’t want him keeping secrets from her, but she doesn’t want to alienate him either. So she decides to share a secret of her own, to even the score. “I was the Painted Lady once.”

He looks at her, interested. “The Painted Lady?”

“Yeah. She’s a spirit who protects the Fire Nation. I dressed up as her to help a town that was suffering… and I kind of blew up a factory that was polluting their river.”

It’s his turn to laugh, though it’s more controlled than her outburst before. She realizes that she’s never heard this particular sound before, but she likes it: low and raspy and emanating deep in his throat. “I know the legends. Though I think that may be the first time the Painted Lady has ever been involved in property damage.”

“It had to be done! Those people were sick and starving. I couldn’t just leave them like that. I couldn’t.”

His face turns serious and he seems distant for a long moment. Then he reaches for her. It looks like he is aiming for her hand but he hesitates and falters before awkwardly laying his hand on her foot instead. Where his hands are unsure his eyes are not; he keeps his gaze steadily on her. “You’re a good person, Katara. You might be angry and hurt but you still try to do the right thing. In the desert when you offered to heal my uncle, in – “ he hesitates here and his eyes flick away briefly, as he lightly clears his throat – “in Ba Sing Se, and again today. That’s who you are. Never forget that.”

She sits in stunned silence and blinks at him. He seems to remember himself and looks down at his hand on her foot, and quickly lets her go. He backs away and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She says it automatically, still processing his words. At first she is confused, because she knows that he knows better. He has seen first-hand just how vindictive she can be. But he was sincere, she is sure of it. It dawns on her then that despite all of their fights and her threats, he doesn’t hold it against her. Despite some of her past actions, he believes her to be good underneath it all. She pictures that same angry young man that showed up at her home almost a year ago, but this time she doesn’t laugh. Maybe it’s time she tries – _really_ tries – to pay him the same courtesy. Something warm spreads in her chest as she starts to see him in an entirely different light. And suddenly it _is_ okay, all of it. Not great, maybe, but it’s a start.

He lies back down, signaling an end to the conversation. She follows his lead and crawls into her own sleeping bag. They are both quiet for a long time, but she knows from the sound of his breathing that he is not yet asleep.

“Zuko?”

“Yes?”

“I won’t tell. About your being the Blue Spirit, I mean. It will be our secret.”

“…Oh, um, Aang kind of knows already. But nobody else does. So thank you. I appreciate it.”

She wants to ask about this, but doesn’t; she has made him share enough for one day. They both lie awake counting the stars long after the fire turns to embers. She almost breaks the silence again to thank him: for this trip, for his words, for his support. But she holds her tongue. She decides she doesn’t need to say it. He already knows.


	2. Chapter 2

The play was awful. Though her brother tries to save face by commenting on the special effects, she knows he regrets being the one to suggest that they go see that stupid thing. No one seems to know what to say after voicing their distaste, so they trudge the rest of the way home in an uneasy silence. It is a relief to finally reach the beach house so that they can all go to their separate rooms and go to sleep with the hope that in the morning it will all just seem like a bad dream.

Katara tries to sleep, but fails. She turns over for what feels like the hundredth time, but nothing seems to help. There are too many thoughts spinning through her head, and most of them have to do with Aang. Finally, she throws back the blanket and heads for the beach, hoping to channel some of this excess energy into waterbending.

The sand is pleasantly cool under her feet though the evening is still balmy. The closer she gets to the water the more she congratulates herself on the idea to come here; already some of her anxiety and displeasure is fading away beneath the sound of the crashing tide. She tosses her pants and tunic carelessly to the sand. She pulls a stream of water to her when she is still paces away and continues to weave it through the air as she walks closer, stopping only when the water rises to meet her knees.

But even surrounded by her element, some of the feelings are unshakable. That absurd play had brought up too many memories that she would rather forget, or at least not linger on until the war was won. She looks up at Yue and silently curses the playwright for inserting a joke in the script during her ascension into the sky. She was deserving of much more respect than that! And Jet – he might have betrayed her trust at one time, but his loss (and her failure to save him) still feels a little too close to the surface, and the play had scratched just hard enough to make those wounds feel fresh again.

And then there was Aang…

The light from the moon dims and this is enough to pull her out of her thoughts to look up. A wall of water towers over her, frothing and menacing. She quickly disperses the wave and feels a little sheepish; it has been a long time since her emotions have taken control of her bending like that. She tries not the think about the play, and the events surrounding it, and instead focuses on basic moves, concentrating on perfecting each muscle movement and the feeling of her body and the water as they shift and flow together. She has just started to relax again and is putting the finishing touches on a perfect water whip when she hears a voice from behind her.

“Looks like you don’t need that scroll anymore.”

She turns and sees Zuko standing on the beach with a smirk on his face and a small bag slung over one shoulder. She isn’t angry at him anymore, hasn’t been angry with him since she let all of that go weeks ago on the dock. Even Sokka had commented on how well they had been getting along. But right now, she is in no mood for his teasing, and the last thing she needs is to be reminded of is being tied to a tree. Her hands find her hips.

“I haven’t needed that scroll in a long time, thank you very much. I’ve knocked you on your butt enough for you to know. And what are you doing down here anyway? Were you…were you watching me?!”

“No. I couldn’t sleep. I just came out here to meditate for a while.” Ignoring her glare, he proceeds to roll out a blanket on the sand before sitting down. He unpacks a few candles and pushes their bases into the sand, lining them up in front of him. Flames grow and dance as he touches the wicks one by one.

Anyone else might have taken the hint that she wants to be left alone, but sometimes it seems that Zuko is impervious to social cues. “Well, couldn’t you go somewhere else? I was here first! Tui and La, you just plop down wherever you please like you own the place!” She throws her hands up in exasperation.

He blinks at her. “…We’re staying at the Fire Lord’s house. I _will_ own the place if your boyfriend the Avatar – “

“He’s not my boyfriend!” she shouts, surprising herself with the vehemence of her denial.

Zuko tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “No? I thought maybe that was just another thing that stupid play got wrong.”

She gives up any hope of regaining her solitude and lets out an exasperated sigh before walking toward him with heavy steps. She flops down next to his blanket and lies on her back. “That and a hundred other things.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, like Toph as a huge guy that emits a sonic blast from his mouth.”

She smiles and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, or that thing with Jet.”

He glances back at her and gives her a wry smile. “That thing where you were swooning all over him, or that thing where he flooded a town for you?”

She flicks sand onto his blanket. “It wasn’t like that! I was not ‘swooning all over him.’ And I certainly didn’t want him to flood that town!”

He shakes his head. “You sure have weird taste in boyfriends.”

“Oh, what, and you’d be any better? Let’s not forget about that ‘special’ scene they included of the crystal catacombs!” She drops her voice into a mock sultry tone and clasps her hands in front of her chest. “’I have to admit, Prince Zuko, I really find you attractive. I’ve had eyes for you since the day you first captured me.’ Ugh! Ridiculous!”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah… ridiculous.”

She doesn’t know why, but the way he says it sends heat into her cheeks. “But anyway, they aren’t – weren’t my boyfriends.” She drops her voice and mumbles under her breath. “I’ve never even had a boyfriend.”

He sits a little straighter. “So you and Aang aren’t really – “

“No.” She pauses for a minute, gauging her mood and his, seeing if she should tell him what’s been bothering her. She decides to risk it. “Not that he would object. He…sort of kissed me during intermission.”

The flames flare white-hot for a moment, but his face and voice betray nothing. “He did?”

She sits up. “Yes, right after I told him I was confused! He just keeps doing that, like surprise kisses are going to eventually win me over.”

He can’t quite look at her, but he turns his head in her direction. “But you like him, don’t you.” It doesn’t come out like a question, and there is a hint of distaste in his voice.

She hugs her knees. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m supposed to, and so I keep trying but… it just doesn’t seem to be happening for me. He’s just so young, and then there’s the war going on, and…” she risks a glance at him before dropping her gaze to her feet. “…other things. It’s just really confusing right now and I wish he would stop pushing it.” She sighs and flops back down to the sand.

He seems to think about this. “Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

“No! I mean no, that’s probably not a good idea. He took that play pretty seriously; he might think that you were just trying to trick him so that you could be with me instead.”

He laughs a little too loudly before clearing his throat. “Oh, I’d uh, better not then. We wouldn’t want him to think that.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to set him off over something so silly.” She laughs weakly and they both spend a few moments pretending to be fascinated by grains of sand.

It feels far too awkward, so she finally breaks the silence. “So… Aang had told us that you rescued him from Zhao, but he never mentioned that you came in disguise. That must be how he knows. About your secret identity, I mean.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes. It was after you came to the Western Air Temple the first time. We were arguing about the idea of letting you join us. He said you had rescued him, but I said it was probably just so you could capture him yourself.”

Zuko turns away, and all she can see is the glossy edges of his scar reflecting in the candlelight. “You were right.”

Privately, she is disappointed. She had hoped that there was a secret explanation, that maybe they _had_ been wrong about him the whole time. Not that it matters much now; he isn’t the same person he was back then.

He turns back to her, and she can see the shame in his eyes. “That was my plan. I had hoped to steal the Avatar – I mean Aang – right out from under Zhao’s nose and deliver him to my father myself.” He shakes his head. “I never used the mask for anything good.”

She is confused. “But you said you used it to free Appa. Even Toph said you weren’t lying!”

“I did, but that was only at Uncle’s urging. I was going to steal Appa, though Agni knows what I would have done with him.” He is quiet for a beat before a funny look crosses over his face. “Can I tell you something?”

She is torn between the excitement of him sharing a secret with her and the fear of what it might be. She responds as evenly as she can. “Of course.”

“I miss the mask sometimes. Don’t get me wrong – I made some really bad decisions back then, and I regret them. I’m not trying to make excuses; my first mistake was using my father as a moral compass. And maybe that’s why I felt different when I wore it. I wasn’t Prince Zuko, the incompetent son of Fire Lord Ozai or a traitor to my nation. I wasn’t dishonored and disloyal. And I wasn’t Lee, the refugee tea shop worker either. I was just…free. Does that make sense?”

She is quiet for a moment before responding. “Yeah, I think it does. When I was the Painted Lady, it was just mine. It wasn’t something I had to do to take care of the group, or train Aang, or help win the war. In fact, it actually put the group at risk and put us behind schedule. But it felt good to take on a different role and not be Katara for a while. Or maybe be more like Katara, I don’t know.”

He looks a little wistful as he watches the tides. “Do you still have the costume?”

She shakes her head. “No. It took up too much room in the saddle bags and I had to leave it behind to make room for provisions.”

“That’s too bad.”

She sits back up and shrugs, brushing dried sand off of her legs. “It’s okay. Maybe it’s better this way. We can’t just hide behind masks all the time. There has to be a balance. You know, between what we want and what others want from us.” She says it nonchalantly, but her own words echo in her mind and suddenly she feels like she has stumbled on the answer to the day’s earlier dilemma.

Zuko doesn’t look convinced. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “But what if the things we want are…wrong?” He risks a glance at her before dropping his gaze to the sand.

She thinks about this, tapping a finger against her lip. “I know! What you need is a new moral compass. And I know just the person for the job.” She points her thumb at her chest.

He makes a face. “You?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Yes, me! Why not me?”

His eyes pop. “Not that you wouldn’t be a good choice! But I do have Uncle - or at least I used to - and I think I’ve been doing a lot better lately…”

She waves him off. “Yes, you have. And your uncle is a good man, from what you’ve said, but you’ve also said he can be kind of cryptic. You need someone who will tell you straight.” He seems to be considering it, so she keeps talking, letting her excitement grow. “Look, let’s make a deal. We’ll both try to be more true to ourselves. If we ever aren’t sure about something, we can just ask the other person for advice. How does that sound?”

“You’d be willing to do that for me?”

She nods. “And you can do it for me.”

He snorts. “I think I’ve got the easier job.”

She smiles and holds out her hand. “Promise?”

He surprises her by gripping her forearm, Water Tribe style. “I promise.”

The intensity of his eyes makes her feel shy for some reason, so she quickly releases his arm and stands up. She bids him goodnight after picking up her clothes from the beach and walks strictly faster than necessary toward the beach house. When she crawls back into bed, she still doesn’t sleep. Thinking back to the look in his eyes brings heat to her cheeks, and she realizes that her situation has just become simultaneously more and less confusing.


	3. Chapter 3

When the lightning hits him her heart stops along with his. For a moment everything falls away, and she forgets the comet, forgets the fate of the world; all she can see is his body crumpled on the ground and all she can feel are her dreams crumbling in her chest. Her heart is heavy with regret and things left unsaid. She shouts his name and sprints toward him, but blue flames block her path. She had forgotten Azula, too. Her eyes swing toward the princess, and she can feel her body swell with rage and disgust. Her focus narrows to a single point: she will show Azula what it means to regret; she will show her what it means to lose the things she loves.

The world is a blur of blue as water and fire collide. She smells singed hair and sweat, feels her lungs burn, but she will not stop. _Cannot_ stop. She feels as crazed as her opponent. Though the adrenaline rushing through her veins makes her feel as though she could keep this up indefinitely, her water supply is dwindling against the heat of the flames. She needs a new strategy, and fast. She thinks of Zuko and stealth, thinks that she needs to be clever as well as strong. As she runs for cover she tries to come up with a plan, and when she stumbles across the grates filled with storm water an opportunity appears.

When Azula rounds the pillar spouting insults, Katara knows that she has her. _I’ll show you what a filthy peasant can do._ Her plan works: she maneuvers Azula into place and just as she tries to strike at her, Katara pulls the water around them, encasing them in a wave of solid ice. She looks into the eyes of the princess and for the briefest of moments she is tempted to let her drown. It would be an ironic death for a daughter of fire, and nothing less than what she deserves.

But she can’t. Zuko was right that night sitting around the campfire: Katara might be angry and she might be capable of doing great harm, but her choices differentiate her from the monster in front of her. She closes her eyes and sighs deeply, melting the ice around her own face. She hurries to bind the princess before running to the middle of the courtyard where Zuko still lies, curled to one side.

She turns him over carefully, winces as she peels back the burnt edges of his tunic and glimpses the damage to his chest. His breathing is shallow and uneven, but she knows he won’t die, because she won’t let him. _Can’t_ let him. As the water glows, it feels different, somehow: it feels personal, as though she is pushing all of her awareness into healing him and leaving something behind. He grinds his teeth and moans as she works, but she doesn’t dare stop. She knows it must hurt and her heart aches knowing that his suffering is all because of her.

His eyes finally drift open and a small smile touches his lips. When he speaks, his voice is soft and fragile and quite possibly the best thing she has ever heard. “Thank you Katara”

She isn’t sure when she started crying, but she can feel tears cooling on her cheeks. “I think I should be the one thanking you.”

His eyes slide closed again and his brow furrows as he reaches up to rub the new scar tissue on his chest. They both cringe as his fingers trace the outlines of it. Emotion floods her as she watches him: regret at the knowledge that despite her healing efforts she is certain he will bear another significant scar forever; awe and gratitude that he survived at all; and finally something warm that she can’t quite define, something that radiates from her chest and pricks at her eyes. There are a hundred things that she wants to say, but none of them seem quite right. An impulse hits her, quick and urgent, and before she can think about it she is leaning down to kiss him.

But as she starts to close the distance between them, he opens his eyes.

She is instantly caught off guard and she quickly uses the momentum to act as though she just wanted to help him up. He doesn’t seem to notice or suspect, and once he is on his feet she breathes a sigh of relief. What was she thinking? From personal experience, she knows that surprise kisses are not always welcome. Not to mention the fact that he is in pain and his sister is screeching and spewing blue fire behind them. No, that would have been a bad idea, and she is glad that she couldn’t follow through with it.

He is able to lead them to his bedroom, but after the adrenaline wears off and the comet has passed he takes a turn for the worst. He collapses on his bed and curls up on his side, trembling and gasping with shaking breath. That first night, she is afraid for him. She pours all of her energy into healing him, into reducing his pain. And despite his stoic façade, she _knows_ that it hurts. He cries out only once, but he is unable to control the tears that sometimes escape when he grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut. These she wipes away with utmost tenderness, after wiping away her own. In the end they are both exhausted, and though he is still in pain he is stabilized.

When she wakes up in the morning her neck hurts from falling asleep sitting up, but she doesn’t dare move, lest she wake Zuko, who is snoring lightly with his head in her lap. Warmth spreads through her body as she watches him breathe through parted lips.

He yawns and turns over onto his back, and when his eyes blink open he is looking directly into her face. She smirks down at him. “Good morning, your majesty.”

Color rushes into his cheeks and he sits up and scrambles away from her. “Katara! I’m so sorry- oww!” He clutches his chest and grimaces.

“Don’t move so fast, you’ll mess up all my hard work!” She already has her water out, and she presses her hand to his chest. There doesn’t appear to be any additional damage, and she sighs her relief. “And don’t say you’re sorry, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

She raises her eyes to his, and in this moment she becomes acutely aware of how close her face is to his. His eyes are searching hers, and when she chances a glance at his lips she can see that he is smiling. He reaches up and gently takes hold of her wrist on his chest. “Katara, I – “

Her stomach growls. Loudly. Inwardly, she groans and wishes she could disappear. Outwardly, she laughs and pulls back. “Come on. I think we could both use some breakfast.”

She helps him out of bed and they make their way to the kitchens together. Though she would rather he stay in bed and rest, she doesn’t want to risk leaving him alone while he is still regaining his strength. And maybe he could manage to walk on his own, but why take the chance? He doesn’t argue when she weaves an arm around his waist, and she tries not to concentrate too hard on the feeling of his arm around her shoulders.

Those first few days, they are alone save for the few servants who haven’t deserted the palace, and those that approach them at all tend to their needs warily and keep their distance. Which is fine by Katara; she is equally wary of them and doesn’t really feel comfortable accepting their help anyway. The kitchens are enormous, and though it takes her a little time to acclimate to the size of the pantry and to wade through the vast amount of utensils, eventually she learns her way around and cooks all of their meals while Zuko sits nearby and keeps her company. When he complains that he feels useless with her doing everything for him, she simply encourages him to pull his chair closer and to think of it less like her serving him and more like a cooking lesson. From that point on she has his full attention in the kitchen, and though the ingredients aren’t quite the same (ocean kumquats are _almost_ a decent substitute for sea prunes) she teaches him how to make some of her favorite dishes.

They fall into an easy routine. She gives him a healing session after every meal, and despite her suggestion that he rest, he refuses to stay in bed all day. In the afternoons they take slow walks through the palace, and he surprises her by being a vocal and enthusiastic tour guide. She marvels at the intricate tapestries and the centuries-old portraits. Though the throne room and high-ceilinged halls are impressive, she is most enamored with the gardens. She loves the turtleducks that inhabit the ponds, and on more than one occasion she catches him watching her with a funny look on his face while she feeds them. In the evenings, he teaches her to play pai sho, and he only pouts a little the first time she beats him.

There were moments, throughout those days, that she thought it might finally happen: if she had just moved a little closer, or if he had just held her gaze a little longer, then maybe she might have worked up the courage she needed. The missed opportunities only serve to frustrate her and cause the urges to grow. She thinks that maybe when her friends finally arrive she’ll have something to distract her and these feelings will diminish. But they don’t. The nights are the worst; when it was just the two of them she stayed in his room, both for his protection and in case his health declined. But the day her friends arrive she quietly moves her things into a room down the hall. He is stronger now, and there are White Lotus members to stand watch outside his door. Not to mention that it was in Zuko’s best interest if Sokka never found out about their previous sleeping arrangements. The first morning that she wakes up alone she feels a tremendous sense of emptiness, and it is in this moment that she knows: she can’t waste any more opportunities.

She devises a plan. They maintain their thrice daily healing sessions, and the group sits down for meals together, but much of the rest of the day Zuko is whisked off to one room of the palace or another to be briefed on matters concerning his country. She spends time with her friends and dodges questions about what she’ll do now that the war is won. She takes shopping trips with her brother and Suki, and spends time lingering over textiles and fasteners. And at night, when the others are asleep and she is restless under the full moon, she works.

Weeks pass, and the morning of the coronation arrives. She is ready. With a large package under her arm, she makes her way to his room for their regularly scheduled healing session before he begins the lengthy preparations for the ceremony. As her steps echo down the long corridor, she rehearses her own speech in her head. Her stomach flip-flops more than once as she approaches his room, but she feels confident all the same. Today is the day, she knows it.

But as she turns the corner she hears Zuko’s voice.

“…of prison?”

And now another voice, low and gritty and decidedly female. “My uncle pulled some strings.” There is a rustle of clothing and then she speaks again. “And it doesn’t hurt when the new Fire Lord is your boyfriend.”

Katara’s blood freezes in her veins. _Boyfriend?_ The new Fire Lord is her _boyfriend_?

Zuko again. “Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

“I think it means I actually kind of like you.”

Every fiber of her being screams at her to turn back around the way she came, except for her feet, which seem to be controlled by curiosity rather than common sense. They guide her silently to the doorway. Slowly, silently, she peeks around the doorframe. And immediately regrets it.

Sunlight streams through the grand windows, illuminating the room. The heavy red drapes are drawn back with golden tasseled ropes, and a crystal vase overflowing with panda lilies sparkles in the corner. But it is the center of the room that has her full attention. There stands Zuko, and in his arms is a tall girl dressed in black. And they are _kissing._

She pulls back and flattens out against the wall, dropping her package. She doesn’t know if she should cry or throw up or storm in there and bloodbend them both. In the end she does none of these, and instead sprints down the hall back to her room as quickly and quietly as she can.

The door slams behind her and she paces the length of her room. She could feel hurt or betrayed, but mostly she is just angry, and not at Zuko. She should have acted sooner, or at least _asked_ if he had a girlfriend. How had that not come up before? Because _of course_ he had a girlfriend; _of course_ he would be dating some noble girl with fair skin and shiny black hair. What had she been thinking? How could she be so stupid?

He knocks on her door a short time later. “Katara? Are you in there?”

She opens the door and feels instantly awkward. The easiness that she felt around him has disappeared, and her limbs feels strangely disconnected, like she doesn’t know what to do with them or the right way to stand.

He smiles at her as though nothing is out of the ordinary, and it is that smile hurts the worst. “I waited for you, but you didn’t come. Do you still have time for a quick healing session?”

“Oh, um, sure. Come in.”

He unties his robe and sits down on the edge of the bed and sighs. “I guess this is it. Today’s the day.”

She gloves her hand in water and tries to concentrate on his wounds, but her mind is in a thousand places and he is still talking. “Part of me still wishes that Uncle wouldn’t have abdicated. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. What do you think?”

“Oh, uh huh, you bet.”

“Things are going to be so different. I’m going to need a lot of help. I was wondering if you… hey wait a minute.” He waves a hand in front of her face. “Hello? Zuko here. Are you even listening to me?”

The hand in her face breaks into her thoughts, which at that moment had been repeatedly screaming _why didn’t you tell me?_ She pulls her water away and streams it back into her pouch. “Um, yeah, of course. You’re all set. But you should probably go, you have to get ready, and so do I.”

“Oh. Okay.” He stands up and ties his robe, and she walks him to the door. He pauses there and reaches for something in his pocket. He pulls out a small folded piece of parchment and turns it over a few times in his hands. Her impatience grows; this is too awkward, too uncomfortable. It takes all of her self-control not to shove him the rest of the way out the door.

He is still fiddling with that paper and looking at the floor. “I, um, wanted to –“

She huffs. “Zuko, you really need to get going. You’re already going to be late for your appointment with the Fire Sages.”

Hurt flashes across his features, so quick she almost misses it. He stands a little straighter and pulls his shoulders back. “Of course. I’ll see you at the reception. Thank you.”

She closes the door gently behind him and quickly finishes getting ready. But not before pausing to throw herself down on the bed to scream into her pillow. She takes a deep breath as she enters the coronation plaza. There are still scorch marks on the stones and it takes no effort to remember exactly where she had been standing when she saw Zuko glide into that web of blue light. She does her best to shake these images from her mind and tries to enjoy herself. She rejoices as she reunites with her father and greets all of the friends she has made and fought beside throughout the past year. She even manages to smile politely as Ty Lee formally introduces her to the girl who threw knives at them and who apparently had been Zuko’s ‘childhood sweetheart, for like, forever.’

When the sound of a gong shimmers through the plaza to signal the beginning of the ceremony the crowd falls silent. She hates the way her breath catches in her throat when he strides out in his formal regalia, and she can’t help but feel proud of him when the sages place the crown in his hair. For the span of the coronation ceremony she allows herself to feel these emotions, to let her heart ache for him, because she vows that this will be the last time.

She does her best to avoid Zuko and the girl in black that trails by his side during the reception. It doesn’t prove to be terribly difficult; being the new Fire Lord makes him extremely popular and he can barely make it two steps before another person is stopping to speak with him. She is surprised to find that she has no shortage of people wanting her attention as well. But she does her best to spend most of her time with her family and close friends.

By the time the party winds down, she is weary. She has never been so happy to see her bedroom, and as soon as she removes her boots she flops backward onto her bed. She considers just falling asleep right then and there, and she starts to drift off when there is a knock at her door.

She groans but can’t make herself sit up. Instead she just shouts at the ceiling. “Come in!”

And of course, it’s Zuko. Apparently he hasn’t had time to change, as he is still in his formal robes. The crown in his topknot flashes as he enters the room. She sits up and rubs her eyes. “Oh. Hi, Zuko. I mean, Fire Lord Zuko. Do I need to get up and bow or something?”

He is taken aback. “What? No. Never. Did I wake you?”

“No, it’s fine. I need to change out of these clothes anyway.”

“Oh. Okay.” There is a long awkward pause, and his fidgeting looks comical in contrast to how he is dressed. “Did you enjoy the reception?”

“Yeah, it was nice seeing all of my old friends. Just so you know, Sokka probably ate most of the meat on the buffet table. You?”

“It was okay, I guess. I don’t really have any old friends to reconnect with, but…” She wants to make a sarcastic comment about reuniting with his girlfriend, but she holds her tongue. He clears his throat. “Anyway, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

 _Thank the spirits._ “What’s on your mind?”

“I, um, was just wondering what your plans were. I overheard Aang telling someone that he had invited you to travel to the colonies with him. Is that true?”

“Yes,” she lies. In truth, she had been sidestepping questions about her plans for weeks; she had hoped to stay at the palace at least until she knew for certain that Zuko was completely healed, but this morning’s events had changed things. She knows she can’t stay here, and this is as convenient of an exit as she is likely to get. “He could use my help, so I told him I’d be happy to go with him.”

“Really?” He seems to deflate. “When are you leaving?”

She wracks her brain trying to think of what Aang had told her about his plans, and her heart sinks at the answer. “Tomorrow morning, actually. He wants to get an early start so that we can reach the Earth Kingdom by nightfall.”

“Ah. Well. I guess I had better let you get some sleep.”

She exhales heavily before standing up and smoothing her dress. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They walk to the door together. She is about to pull on the door handle to show him out when he surprises her with a fierce hug. Part of her wants to punish him, to keep her arms at her sides, but she realizes that this would be punishing herself as well. After only the briefest hesitation she wraps her arms around his waist and returns the hug with equal force.

He pulls back and holds her by the shoulders. “Thank you. For everything. And…don’t forget to come back and feed the turtleducks from time to time. They’ll miss you.”

She offers him a broken smile. “I’ll miss them too.” With that he nods and exits the room.

The next morning, the Fire Nation islands grow smaller in her vision as she looks out over the back of Appa’s saddle. Aang calls over his shoulder, his voice clear and vibrant despite the wind.

“I’m so glad you decided to come with me Katara! This will be so much more fun now that you’re here!”

Inside, she feels empty. But after a beat she turns around in the saddle and forces the corners of her mouth into a smile. “Of course it will, Aang. Thanks for letting me come along.”


	4. Interlude

Aang and Katara travel all over the Earth Kingdom, spending most of their time in the colonies working to quell discontent among the citizens and keep the Avatar’s peace. It isn’t always easy, and it doesn’t always work. Not everyone is charmed by Aang’s playful demeanor, and some of the wounds between the nations go so deep that she isn’t sure they can ever be healed. The first year is hard and their failures are many. But she maintains the hope that the people can work out their differences, for Aang’s sake as well as Zuko’s.

Along the way, Aang insists on showing her the sights that he enjoyed a hundred years ago as well as exploring things that are new to them both. He doesn’t have to kiss her by surprise anymore, and she has come to find comfort and even happiness in his closeness. During the next summer, they spend a great deal of time in Ba Sing Se at the Earth King’s request. Sometimes when Aang is in meetings she takes her time and visits familiar places in and around the city. She is no stranger to the Jasmine Dragon, and Iroh helps her improve her pai sho strategies. When the Upper Ring starts to feel too pretentious, she takes refuge in Ba Sing Se University’s library or takes the train to the edge of the city and spends hours walking along the outer walls.

They send and receive letters from their friends, and Zuko’s hawks seem particularly skilled in finding her no matter how often she changes location. His notes are brief and focus primarily on politics; he often asks for her opinion and she is happy to provide him with an outside perspective. She muses in one letter that she feels like an unofficial foreign advisor, and that he should consider himself lucky that she doesn’t charge him for her services. She can’t help but laugh when she receives a small chest filled with gold pieces along with his next letter. She returns it, explaining that she can’t take his money but she hopes that at least sometimes he takes her advice.

For two years, she and Aang travel together, eat vegetarian food, laugh over shared memories, and spar. They visit Toph whenever they are nearby and attend Earth Rumble tournaments. Except for their stay in Ba Sing Se, they rarely stay in one place for more than a few days. For two years, it seems like this is where her destiny lies.

But while Aang is at home in the air, Katara can’t help but yearn for solid ground and the sound of the tides. The topic of settling down starts weave its way into their conversations more and more, and eventually these conversations turn into arguments. She grows fed up with shouting after him as he soars into the sky with his glider, and sometime before the three year anniversary of the war’s end she buys passage at the nearest port for a ship headed south.

Her father welcomes her home, and there is a particular joy in being back at the South Pole, surrounded by her element and her people. She is stunned at how much the tribe has grown in such a short period of time. With her grandfather’s influence, families from the North have taken residence and new families have begun or been reunited since the men have returned from war. There are children again, playing in the snow and helping with the chores; some of them are even waterbenders, and she delights in helping with their training.

She keeps contact with Aang, who searches for airbenders while trying to keep the peace. Though they are fewer now, there are still riots from time to time, and she knows that he does his best to keep things under control. On rare occasion, he even visits. She is always happy to see him, but she declines his requests to join him again on his travels. She knows what he wants, and she knows that he cannot help that the world needs him, but she knows she wants too. So she stays in the South Pole and indulges him when he wishes to kiss her goodbye.

Zuko’s messenger hawks arrive with regularity, and despite the time that has passed and the typically dry content of his letters, she can’t help but feel her pulse quicken when she sees the hawks with red ribbons coming down from the sky. These messages she saves for the evenings when she has time to be alone, and only opens them near the comfort of the fire.

When she breaks the seal on one letter that arrives during the winter, she discovers a long black strand of hair caught in the red wax. At first she dismisses it as Mai’s; she knows through her communications with Iroh that they have been maintaining an uneasy relationship. She grimaces and almost tosses it aside. But something makes her examine it more closely, and on second thought she decides it is far too short to belong to the noblewoman.

She has to read his letter more than once before she comprehends the contents, and it takes her longer than usual to write out her reply. Her thoughts keep drifting back to that strand of hair and what she imagines he must look like now, how he might have changed. Despite his requests to visit, she has not once been back to feed the turtleducks. But her curiosity might change her mind.


	5. Chapter 5

It is the summer of her fifth year in the South Pole when a Fire Nation zeppelin appears in the sky. She dismisses her waterbending pupils and runs to find her father, not sure what to make of it. She is unaware of any scheduled diplomatic visits, and it would be completely out of character for the Fire Lord to show up on a whim. She and her father - along with other curious citizens - make their way to where the zeppelin has docked. When the captain of the ship emerges, he is carrying a cylinder tied with a black ribbon.

Her father steps forward and the captain bows formally. “Greetings, Chief Hakoda. I have an urgent message for Master Katara from his majesty, Fire Lord Zuko.”

She warily steps forward. “That’s me.” He hands her the tube. Aware of the all the eyes watching her, she carefully extracts the scroll from inside. The seal on the letter is definitely Zuko’s, though it is smeared and spots of stray wax dot the back of the page. The disarray is unusual for him, and she immediately knows that something is wrong. With shaking hands, she breaks the wax and her eyes scan the hastily drawn characters on the page.

_Please come. I’ll explain everything when you arrive. Please. – Zuko_

Her head snaps up and she addresses the captain of the ship. “What’s this about? Has something happened?”

The captain gives her a questioning look. “I assure you, Master Katara, I am not privy to the contents of the message you received. I simply have orders: to deliver the message, and, if you are willing, to bring you to the Fire Nation.”

Within the hour she has finished packing a bag and saying her goodbyes to her father and friends in the tribe. She climbs aboard the airship and as each hour passes her anxiety grows. She has not seen Zuko since she moved south, and she knows in her heart that this trip will not be cause for a happy reunion.

When she arrives at the palace, it has been transformed. White lengths of fabric have replaced the Fire Nation banners, and even the servants she passes have white sashes tied about their waists or white bands secured around their arms. Great mirrors at the end of the halls are covered over in parchment. Katara has never seen anything like this before, and none of it makes any sense.

Her escorts guide her though the palace and lead her to the royal apartments. The guards outside Zuko’s bedroom pay her no mind as she approaches and knocks on the door. When there is no response she tries again, louder this time, and calls out to him.

“Zuko? It’s Katara. Can I come in?”

From within she can hear his voice, deeper than she remembers but still so familiar that it makes her heart skip. When she opens the door, she is greeted by a cloud of sweet smelling smoke. The room has undergone the same transformation as she had seen in the hallways. The Fire Nation standard that hung on one wall has been replaced with white, and the mirrors are covered in parchment. At first she doesn’t see Zuko, but as her eyes adjust to the dim lighting she spots him, seated on the floor in front of his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest. The robes he wears are of the purest white, accentuating the pallor of his skin. His hair hangs loosely past his shoulders and his crown is nowhere to be seen.

She shuts the door gently behind her and makes her way to where he sits. He doesn’t acknowledge her or look up; his eyes are fixed on the wooden floor. Under normal circumstances, she might tease him for not greeting her or bombard him with questions, but there is the strangest feeling as though she has walked into an unsettling dream. At a loss for what to say or do, she simply seats herself next to him on the floor and waits.

Lost in her own thoughts, she startles a little when his long pale fingers reach into her lap and cover her hand. He still doesn’t look at her, but he does finally speak to her in a voice that is rough and brittle. “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure if you would. I know I’ve inconvenienced you, and I apologize for that.”

She is relieved that the silence is broken. Though she is afraid to know the answer, she has to ask. “I came as soon as I got your message. But I don’t understand, Zuko. What is all this? What happened?”

His voice is strange, distant. “It’s about my mother. I’ve had people searching for her since I took the throne. For years there has been no trace of her, even my best agents could find nothing. But two days ago I received confirmation that she had been found at last.”

She tries to ignore the dread building in her gut. Very carefully she asks, “Where was she? Is she here now?”

He gestures to the corner of the room without looking in that direction. “She’s right over there.”

In retrospect, she isn’t sure what she was expecting to see. But the sight of it still knocks the wind from her lungs as if she had been hit in the chest with one of Toph’s boulders. There, in the corner, is a portrait of a beautiful woman. A collection of various fruits is grouped beside it, and sticks of incense leave trails of blue smoke in the air. In front of the portrait, on a small cushion, sits a delicate and intricately adorned urn.

Her hand finds her mouth as she sits in stunned silence. Seconds tick by and her brain feels as though it is underwater; all of her thoughts are slow and incoherent. It is only when she feels hot tears on her cheeks that she seems to come back to the present, and she pulls Zuko to her and holds him tightly.

“Oh sprits, Zuko. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She holds him there on the floor of his room until her knees ache and her arms tingle; she barely notices. She rubs small circles on his back and rocks him as he shakes. She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but eventually he quiets. He offers his hand to help her off of the floor and holds it as he leads her over to sit on his bed. He still doesn’t let go once they are seated.

It is on the tip of her tongue to ask what happened, and as though he was reading her thoughts, he starts to speak in a voice is empty of emotion, like he is reciting a script. “She was in the colonies. One of the more politically volatile ones. From her clothes and the bags she carried, she must have been travelling through. But there was a riot. Four people died. My men were able to… identify her body, based on her belongings.”

“The colonies? Was there any indication of what she was doing there?”

“No. I’d like to think that she was finally on her way home. But I’ll never know.” He stares intently at the portrait across the room. “Why didn’t she come sooner? It’s been almost eight years since the war ended…” He trails off and his chin starts to tremble, but he takes a deep breath and it stills.

There is no answer to this. Katara can feel the frustration underneath his sadness, and part of her wants to be angry at his mother for not coming home to see her son, or at least sending a letter. But she knows that no mother would stay away without reason, even if they will never know what those reasons were.

“…How did they know it was her?”

“They found this in her bag.” He reaches into his robes and pulls out a golden object in the shape of a flame. Even in the dim light of the room it gleams. Katara has no doubt that this was her royal hairpiece.

He hands it to her, and she holds it reverently, feeling the smooth weight of it in her palm. A glimmer of hope sparks in her mind. “What if someone – “

“Stole it from her?” She nods eagerly. But he shakes his head. “I thought that too.” His voice drops. “But I saw her myself.”

The finality of the situation hangs in the air, and her body feels heavy beneath it. She inches closer to Zuko and puts her arm around his waist. A heartbeat later he follows suit, and pulls her to his chest.

“I really am sorry, Zuko. I know what it feels like to lose your mom.” With her free hand she rubs the pendant at her neck, and fresh tears gather at the corners of her eyes.

“I know.” He turns his head looks at her for the first time since she arrived. He brushes her tears away with his thumb. “That’s why I asked you to come. I knew you would understand.”

And she knows it’s wrong, but even in his grief, with his hair tangled and his eyes rimmed in red, she can’t help but notice the man he’s become and the tenderness in his face as he looks at her. Suddenly she feels fifteen again, and the dull throb that she has felt in her chest when she thought of him over the years grows and pounds so loudly in her ears that she is sure he must be able to hear it.

And then her stomach growls. Loudly.

Her face heats and her spine stiffens. If she felt embarrassed the first time this happened, she feels mortified now. She is positive the spirits are already somehow punishing her for having such improper thoughts during a somber moment. She watches him, wide-eyed, as his chin starts to tremble and his lips twitch.

And then he laughs out loud. He laughs like he’s never encountered anything so funny in his entire life, falling back onto the bed and curling to one side, robes tangling around his legs as he kicks his feet. At first she just blinks at him, trying to decide if this is the moment he’s finally cracked from grief and that perhaps he’ll need a padded cell next to his sister. But his laughter is infectious, and she soon enough she finds herself right there next to him, clutching her sides and wiping her eyes.

When his laughter finally subsides he turns to her. “I’m sorry, I just – I think I needed that. I’ve been in this room by myself for two days.” He cocks an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t they feed you on the airship?”

She looks sheepish. “They tried, but I couldn’t eat. I was too nervous about what I’d find when I got here.”

“I could probably stand to eat something myself. Do you like komodo chicken?”

She nods and he groans as he pulls himself off of the bed and walks toward the door. He sticks his head out the door and speaks with the guards posted outside. A short time later a servant appears with a tray bearing multiple covered dishes. They spread the food out on the floor and divide it between them. The scent of the spices from the komodo chicken makes her mouth water when she lifts the lid, but she is more than surprised when she uncovers a smaller side dish.

“Five-flavor soup!”

He shrugs. “I really liked it when you made it for me the last time you were here. I remembered it and taught the new chef the recipe after you left.”

She smiles back at him. “I can’t believe you remembered this!” She smirks and places her open palm above her fist and bows. “Well done, pupil Zuko.”

He mirrors the gesture and smirks back. “My pleasure, sifu Katara.”

They spend the next few moments in silence enjoying the food. She hopes for a moment that his good mood might last, if only for a little while, but it doesn’t take long before he sighs heavily and sets down his bowl. “Mom would have liked this. She enjoyed food from other cultures, though my father refused to even try them.” He pauses before picking up his chopsticks again, rolling a piece of komodo chicken around on his plate. “She would have liked you too. I’m sorry she didn’t get to meet you.”

Katara’s heart melts a little. “I’m sure I would have liked her too.”

They continue to eat, and she can’t help but remember the other meals that they shared for those few days after Sozin’s Comet had passed when it was just the two of them. And it’s only as she thinks of this that the whole situation strikes her as odd. She bites her lip and tries to think of the most delicate way to ask the question that’s on her mind. Finally, she gathers her courage and speaks.

“…Zuko, you said that you’d been alone in this room for two days. Why hasn’t anyone been here with you?”

“There are storms in Ba Sing Se right now, preventing my Uncle from traveling by air. With any luck they will pass and he’ll be here in a few days.”

He doesn’t continue, so she’s forced to ask. “…What about Mai?”

He stops eating for a moment and his eyes focus on the wall behind her head. “She doesn’t know. Or maybe word has spread by now and she does. I don’t know. I haven’t spoken with her in months. It wouldn’t matter, sympathy isn’t really her specialty.” He looks back at her and shrugs, but the gesture doesn’t come off as nonchalant as he might like. “My list of personal friends is quite short, I’m afraid. One of the perks of being the Fire Lord.”

She immediately feels sorry for asking, and starts to say so, but he cuts her off. “Don’t worry about it Katara. You’re here, and that’s what counts.” He takes a sip of tea. “Now, tell me what you’ve been doing to keep busy in the South Pole.” She knows that he is well aware of what she’s been up to; her letters over the years have been much more detailed than his. But she can sense his need for a change of subject, and she also knows all too well that sometimes being distracted from grief is a necessity. So she tells him all about the waterbenders she’s been helping to train, both in combat techniques and in healing, regardless of gender. Master Pakku still balks at the idea on occasion, but she simply reminds him that having healing male waterbenders along on the hunts will help reduce casualties and serious injuries. She tells him about the growth of the tribe, and how Sokka has played an instrumental part in designing new roads and homes. She updates him on the others too; she talks until she can feel the moon climbing higher in the sky, just to keep his mind occupied. When he politely stifles the third yawn behind his hand, she stands up to leave so that he can rest. But he startles her when he catches her hand.

He looks at the ground. “Will you stay? Just for tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor. I just… it’s nice not being alone.”

She pauses and tries to decide if it’s a good idea, but in the end she nods. “Okay, if that’s what you want. But you don’t have to sleep on the floor if you don’t want to; your bed is big enough for the Unagi. Besides, I guess it wouldn’t be the first time. Though… won’t your guards notice that I haven’t left?”

He releases her hand. “Do you care if they do?”

She bites her lip. “I just don’t want to get you in trouble.”

A glimmer of the old Zuko appears when he snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’m the Fire Lord. They answer to me, not the other way around.”

As if to prove his point, he strides to the doors and addresses the guards posted outside. “Bring Master Katara’s things to my room.”

She hears a muffled ‘yes, your highness’ and minutes later her belongings are delivered. Bag in hand, she excuses herself and heads to his adjoining bathroom to wash her face and change her clothes. The soft sound of running water greets her as she shuts the door. On one wall, water flows from the mouth of a golden dragon sculpture, which feeds into a round obsidian bathtub large enough for four people. She pulls a thin stream from the tub to wash her face and is surprised to note that it is warm. After changing her clothes, she pulls a comb out of her bag in the hopes of gaining some control over the tangles in her hair. But as she turns around she encounters the same phenomenon as she did in the hallways of the palace: the mirror over the basin is covered in parchment. She shrugs and sits down in a cushioned chair and begins her work. With all of her travels before and after the war, she is more than adept at completing this task without the aid of her reflection.

When she exits the bathroom the lamps burn low and he is already in bed, comically close to one edge, his breathing low and even. Carefully, she peels back the sheets and crawls in on the other side. She barely has time to pull the covers up before she, too, is asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, this chapter might be pushing the rating limit just a tad. Enjoy!

Days pass, but the storms in Ba Sing Se do not. Iroh sends a messenger hawk with his regrets and assurances that he will be there as soon as possible. Most of their time is spent in silence. There are times she can draw him out of his shell, or convince him to play a game of pai sho, and sometimes he even smiles and shares anecdotes about some of his least favorite council members as they eat their meals. But for the most part he sits quietly, caught in his own thoughts. She is grateful that there is a shelf full of scrolls on one wall, as she did not think to pack much in the way of entertainment. She has to dig to find ones that aren’t dry military texts, but eventually she finds some old fairy tales and legends buried deep on a bottom shelf. He doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice her half the time, but this she accepts. She is there when he needs her, and gives him space when he doesn’t. But she keeps a close eye on his moods, and she feels uneasy as she notes that he seems to say less every day and on occasion she has to call his name more than once to get his attention. Despite his proclamation years ago that firebenders rise with the sun, he sleeps well past sunrise and retires early. But even with the time he spends in bed, his sleep is fitful and restless, and there have been nights when she has to shake him awake to relieve him of his nightmares.

On the morning of the fourth day she wakes slowly and turns over to check on Zuko, but the bed is empty. Alarmed, she throws back the blankets and sits up, looking around the room.

She doesn’t have to look far; he sits in front of his mother’s altar, his posture rigid and his head bowed. She has no idea what time it is, nor does she know how long he has been out of bed. She hopes that he slept, if only a little.

As she watches him she is torn. Part of her wants to go to him and give him comfort, but she knows that she should not interrupt. Patience and respect win out, and she chooses to silently observe. He still wears the same white silk pants, but his chest and feet are bare. A dark stripe of hair hangs limply between his shoulder blades, with a few strands sticking out at odd angles. She watches the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes and feels a sense of relief in noting that they do not shake.

He bows, and reaches for a plate of fruit, selecting a few pieces and replacing the ones that sat by the portrait the day before. From the plate he also removes two mangoes and begins to peel the fruit with a familiar looking blade, collecting the slices and carrying them back to the bed on a small platter. As he approaches she can’t help but notice the starburst of a scar on his chest, and that, much like the scar on his face, time has done little to diminish its appearance. He slowly crawls back into bed and though he sets the plate between them as if to share, not once does he look at her. He lifts a slice of fruit to his mouth and chews listlessly.

Over the course of their friendship, she has encountered many different facets of Zuko. She has seen him angry, embarrassed, remorseful, and, on rare occasion, even happy. She is used to him brooding or being morose, but she has never seen him so utterly _empty_. No matter his emotional state, she knows him as a person of action and energy. While she feels strongly that he should be able to grieve in his own way, there is something frightening about his lethargic movements. There is a nagging sense that if she lets him stay in this state too long he won’t come back. This worries her immensely, not just because he is her friend but because she also knows that he has a duty to his people. She needs to get him _moving_ , to reignite that spark before it dies out completely.

She clears her throat. “You know, Zuko, I haven’t fed the turtleducks since I’ve arrived.”

He shrugs and continues to stare at the wall. “Go ahead.”

This is not the answer she wants. She tries again. “But don’t you want to go with me? I bet the gardens are beautiful this time of year. Wouldn’t it be nice to get some fresh air? See the sun?”

“No.”

She’s grasping at straws, but she tries once more. “But what if I get lost? It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

“The servants would be happy to direct you if you lose your way.”

“But – “

His brow furrows. “ _No_ , Katara. I don’t want to go. Stop asking.”

So she does. But only for a little while. She tries again before lunch, asking if he would like to go to the kitchens to learn how to make dumplings. He declines. In the afternoon, she pulls water out of the humid air and lets it dance between her hands, challenging him to a sparring match. He shakes his head. She tries again after dinner, asking if he would like to show her the renovations to the throne room that he had mentioned in a letter months before. The answer is the same.

Something about the way he shuffles back to the bed magnifies her irritation. She sets down the dishes she was stacking on the tray and crosses her arms, frustrated by her failure to motivate him. “Zuko, at some point you have to leave this room. You can’t stay in here forever.”

He stops in his tracks and stands up straight, his hands curling to fists. He pivots back to face her, his eyes blaze. “Yes I _can_!” He stalks back toward her, throwing wild gestures in his wake. “I know what you’re trying to do, so just stop it! I will sit in this room as long as it pleases me - until my bones turn to dust if that’s what it takes! My mother is _dead_ , Katara. I need to mourn her!”

The outburst is unexpected, and it is certainly the most animated she has seen him in days. For an instant she is startled, but then her scowl mirrors his own. The smoke curling from between his teeth might have frightened her in her youth, but not anymore. Instead of being intimidated she matches the volume of his voice and points her finger at him. “And your people need _you_! Believe me, I know how much you are suffering, but your country will start suffering soon if you aren’t there to guide them!”

He throws up his hands. “Let them! I’m tired of trying to solve all of their problems!”

“Don’t try to tell me you don’t care! I know better!”

He gets right up in her face, so close that she can feel the heat of his breath as he shouts. “I _don’t!_ Now leave me _alone_! Go feed the turtleducks or something. Go back to the South Pole if you have to, or better yet, go back to the Earth Kingdom with Aang! Just get out of my sight.”

She might have flinched if she were not so utterly furious. She inches forward and glares at him; he is taller than she remembers and she has to tilt her head up to look him in the eye, but this does not stop her. She does not back down and neither does he. Seconds tick by and the only sound in the room is their heavy breath as they glare at one another; the air around him shimmers with heat. But this close, she can see the stubble on his face and the bruise-colored shadows under his good eye. The smell of old incense and sweat pours off of him and his hair is in desperate need of a comb. He is a mess. She realizes with all of her goading that she has put the cart before the ostrich-horse. Her anger drains and her posture slackens. First things first.

“No. I won’t ever turn my back on people who need me. And right now, you need me the most.”

He curls his lip. “Don’t flatter yourself. I should have never even – “

“Zuko.” She reaches up and lays her hand on the right side of his face. He stills but his expression does not change. “I’m not going anywhere. At least not until your uncle gets here. You don’t want to leave this room yet? Fine. But eventually you’re going to have to. You and I both know that.” She runs a thumb against the stiff bristles on his cheek. “Besides, you can’t go out like this anyway. Right now you’re looking less like the Fire Lord and more like a dirty peasant.”

He makes a face and starts to protest, but she ignores him. “Follow me.” She grabs his wrist and starts to tug him toward the washroom, but he remains rooted in place.

“Katara, what – “

She turns and gives him a stern look. “If your uncle shows up and sees you like this, he will feed us both to Ran and Shaw. Now, are you going to let me clean you up, or do I have to bloodbend you into submission?”

This gets his attention. He narrows his eyes at her but his feet start to move. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try to resist and you’ll find out.” She drags him into the washroom and pushes him down into the cushioned seat in front of the basin. Keeping one eye on him, she rummages around in the cabinets along one wall until she finds what she is looking for.

He watches as she lays out a towel, a bar of soap, and a straight-edged razor. He crosses his arms and sticks his nose in the air. “I have an attendant that usually does that for me.”

“Would you like me to send for him?”

“No.”

“Well then I guess you’ll have to do it yourself.” She turns to the mirror and begins to pull at the corner of the parchment.

Quicker than she could have imagined he is standing next to her and holding her wrist, preventing her from uncovering the mirror. “Don’t.”

She gives him a puzzled look. “Why not?”

His eyes hit the floor. “Just… don’t. Please.”

She lets the parchment go and eyes the shaving implements on the counter. “Okay… Well then you’ll just have to let me do it.”

He looks skeptical. “Do you even know how?”

“I’ve seen Sokka do it before! And besides, if I mess up I can just heal you.”

“That makes me feel _so_ much better.”

In the end he acquiesces and settles back down in the chair, eyeing her carefully as she hovers around his face and neck with the blade. She misses a few spots, and she nicks him twice, but as he towels off his face she is satisfied that she has done a passing job for her first try. He rubs a hand over his chin and nods his approval.

“Okay, maybe you were right. That does feel better. Thank you.” She grins at the praise. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He gets up and makes for the bedroom, but she jumps in front of him and blocks his path. “Not so fast! We aren’t finished here.”

He sighs in exasperation. “Katara, it’s late. I just want to go to bed.”

He makes to move past her, but she drops into a bending stance. Before he can react she pulls the water from the bathtub and surrounds him, freezing him in a sphere of ice. Using her bending, she picks him up and lets the water hover over the tub before unfreezing it. He drops unceremoniously into the tub, sputtering and flailing as water spills over the edge and splashes onto the floor.

 _“What was that for?!”_ He shakes a dripping lock of hair from his eyes and looks at her with a mixture of fury and disbelief.

She smirks at him, hands on her hips. “I warned you, didn’t I? Now don’t move; I have to find the shampoo.”

His arms hit the surface of the water with a splash. _“I am perfectly capable of bathing myself!”_

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you are. And you will. Spirits, Zuko, I’m just going to wash your hair, not give you a sponge bath!” Her brain catches up to her mouth and she quickly turns back to rummaging through the cabinets so he can’t see her face.

When she finds the right bottle, she turns and finds Zuko slouched against the round edge of the bathtub with his arms crossed, scowling at the wall. Steam rises from the water around him. She reminds herself that he might be angry now, but that this is for his own good. She considers it no small victory that he stayed put at all. She pours a little shampoo into one hand and pauses. “Are you going to cooperate, or are you going to fight me?”

“Do what you want. Just don’t expect any help from me.”

“I don’t need your help. I just need you to sit still.”

He grunts in reply. Standing behind him, she gathers up his hair and begins to lather in the shampoo. She might be a novice at shaving, but washing long hair is something that she is more than familiar with. As she rubs small circles into his scalp with her fingertips, he sinks further into the water and his shoulders relax. Despite himself, his eyes slip closed and he leans into her touch; steam escapes from his mouth when he sighs. Mentally, she congratulates herself on this idea. She falls into the rhythm of the work and finds herself relaxing right along with him, taking longer than strictly necessary. Seeing that he has calmed considerably, she risks asking him a question that’s been on her mind since she arrived.

“Zuko?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are all the mirrors covered?”

His shoulders start to tense again and inwardly she curses. “The Fire Sages instruct us to cover the mirrors in the house after someone passes away. It keeps their spirits from being trapped here in our world. But that danger has passed. They’ve probably taken them down elsewhere in the palace by now.”

Using her bending, she rinses the soap from his hair, careful not to let it run into his eyes. “Why wouldn’t you let me uncover yours?”

He is silent for a long time, and she thinks he might be ignoring her. She begins to pull the water out of his hair to dry it. Just when she has given up hope of an answer and is about to tell him that she’ll leave him alone soon so that the can finish bathing in privacy, he starts to speak.

“It’s because I’m afraid. My mother, she was the best part of me, the good part. All that’s left is Ozai.” His spine curves and he curls into himself, hugging his knees. His voice is small, and she has to strain just to hear him. “I just feel like if she’s gone, what’s to keep me from becoming just like him? After she left it was so easy to forget who I was, or who she thought I was. What if I wasn’t ever really that person at all? What if, when I look at my reflection, it’s him staring back at me? What if I really am his loyal son?”

She steps around so that she can see him and kneels down next to the side of the tub. She reaches out to put her hand on his shoulder, and when she does his skin is fever-hot. “Zuko. Come on. You and I both know you aren’t anything like him.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her. He keeps his eyes fixed on the opposite wall. “I’ve always wondered why she never came home or sent a letter. I didn’t want to admit it, not out loud at least, but all those years part of me thought that she must already be dead. No matter where she was she would have heard that Ozai had been defeated, and that I became Fire Lord. She would have known that it was safe. And yet, she still stayed away. But I think I’ve finally figured it out.” His shoulders start to quake and tears escape from his eyes when he blinks. “She _knew_. Don’t you see? My mother _knew_ how awful I was - there’s no way she couldn’t have heard the stories, there’s a play about those days for Agni’s sake! She knew all about how I hunted the Avatar, and how I betrayed uncle, and how I hurt people – how I hurt you. _Of course_ she wouldn’t have come home. She was too ashamed – “

Katara has heard enough. She vaults over the edge of the bathtub, hot water soaking up to her knees. The action startles him and the look he gives her is one of surprise. She wades in next to him and sinks further into the water as she sits back on her heels, facing him. He opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can she catches his chin, pinching it between two fingers and turning his head, forcing him to look at her. “Zuko! Listen to me. Your mother was _not_ ashamed of you. Maybe you’ve done some things you regret, but that’s what makes you different from your father or your sister. You regret them. You know the difference between right and wrong.”

He looks away and mumbles under his breath. “Don’t be so sure.”

“What was that?”

He looks back at her, his eyes intense. “Do you forgive me, Katara?”

She releases his chin and sits up straight. “What?”

“Answer the question.”

He is watching her intently, vigilantly scanning for any reactions that might be interpreted as hesitation or deception. She could try to reason with him, explain to him that _of course_ she had forgiven him long ago, and tell him that he was being ridiculous for even asking such a thing. After all, why would she be here right now if she hadn’t? Why would she have kept contact with him for all of these long years? But it doesn’t matter that she’s forgiven him, and it doesn’t matter what explanation she would give, because in this moment it is obvious that despite all that they have been through he hasn’t forgiven _himself_.

He interprets her silence as rejection. “I see.”

Something changes in her as she looks at him, sees the shame that weighs down his features as water drips down his face and pools in the hollows of his collarbone, sees the pain he feels as he looks down at the water and swallows hard. It doesn’t matter what she would say, because above everything she knows that this isn’t about reason, this is about feelings. And the feelings she has for him right now extend far beyond any teenage crush, far deeper than any surface attraction, and surpass any sense of duty or gratitude or relief. And just as her feelings are different than they were then, so are her actions.

This time, she does not hesitate.

Her fingers grip his chin again, and she looks at him for one long instant before slowly closing the distance between them. Softly, she touches her lips to his, giving him the only answer she has. The only one she has ever had.

He twists his body and leans into her, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of her head. His kiss is gentle, reverent, and when she pulls back just a fraction his eyes remain closed for a heartbeat. She holds her breath, not sure what to expect. But when he opens them there is laughter and tenderness and relief in his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

She grins and touches her forehead to his. Before she can respond, he is pulling her back in.

He doesn’t stay gentle for long; but then again neither does she. He catches her off guard only once; she yelps in surprise when he grabs her under the arms without warning and pulls her into his lap. But she has surprises of her own, and as she runs her lips over the smooth seam of his scar she can hear his breathing hitch. His hands are everywhere: weaving through the thick mane of her hair, running down the curve of her back, gliding up the length of her thighs. His teeth come out to nip at her neck and nibble her lower lip, and she groans low in her throat.

A sense of urgency builds, making her feel as though no matter how hard she presses her skin to his she will never be close enough, no matter how efficiently he tugs at her bindings it is still too slow. Her need for him is desperate, and his desire matches her own. Piece by piece, their clothes slap in wet piles against the bathroom floor. She drinks in the look of him as she braces her hands against the edge of the bathtub, memorizes the way his eyes flutter shut and the sound he makes as she sinks slowly down into his lap. The surface of the water pulses and rolls with their movement, sending rhythmic cascades over the side of the tub.

They make their way from the bathtub to his bed, a flurry of hands and kisses, leaving a trail of wet footprints and drops of water on his bathroom floor and plush carpets. When she finally cries out it is loud enough for one of the guards outside his room to knock on the door. They pause, wide-eyed, and listen.

“Is everything alright, sir? Do you need assistance?”

She gives Zuko a wry smile, her chest heaving. “I think you’re doing just fine on your own.”

He gives her a scandalized look before shouting toward the door. _“Thank you for your concern, Captain. But if you disturb me again you_ will _regret it!”_ He turns back to her. “Just fine? Tsk. I guess I’d better keep trying until I get it right then, don’t you think?” She giggles as he nips at her ear and rolls her over.

In the end she barely has the energy to pull the water out of the sheets before snuggling against his chest and throwing an arm across his waist. She mumbles that she will clean the rest up in the morning, but he is already asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

_The water around them is warm and fragrant, sending tendrils of steam rising up like mist. When she sinks down into his lap his eyes roll shut and he groans low in his throat, fingers tightening around her hips. She closes her own eyes and focuses on the places where their bodies meet, trying to determine where she ends and he begins. There seems no answer to it; in this moment she feels complete, as though he has always been a part of her in some way and this is simply an act of joining two parts of a whole. A long breath slowly escapes her lips, and it is a sigh of pleasure, but it is more than that too: it is a sigh of relief._

_When she looks at him again his eyes are alive with the sight of her, dark and penetrating. He reaches up with dripping hands and weaves his fingers into the hair at the sides of her face. He pulls her down to him, and kisses her greedily with half-lidded eyes. When she begins to rock in his lap, his mouth escapes from hers to trail across her jaw and down her throat –_

Katara’s eyes snap open. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, but slowly she comes to recognize the wood paneling of the high ceiling and the tapestry of the Fire Nation along one wall. The smell of incense hangs in the air, and she remembers where she is and why she is here: Zuko’s mother has passed on to the spirit world, and she is here to help him grieve.

The bed next to her is empty, and she rolls over to locate Zuko. He is seated at his mother’s altar, blue incense smoke curling in the air. He is barefoot and bare-chested, dressed in white silk pants, and his head is bowed in respect. She watches as he selects pieces of fruit from a platter to replace the ones from the previous day. A sense of déjà vu settles over her as she watches the scene play out. She rolls onto her back and rubs her eyes, trying to shake the sleep from her mind. She feels sore and disoriented, like those few mornings when she had woken up after having a bit too much rice wine. Disappointment settles in her chest as she stares back at the ceiling, wishing that she could go back to sleep. That was some dream; she hadn’t had one like that in a long time. Her face starts to feel hot just thinking about it and she tries to force the images away, curling further into the warmth of the bed.

She looks again at Zuko, and a soft sigh escapes her lips. Being around him so much was obviously only dredging up old feelings that should probably be forgotten. Especially at a time like this, when he is hurt and suffering from a terrible loss. Yes, she is disappointed that it wasn’t real, but mostly she feels relieved. The man that sits not far away from her is her friend - one of her _best_ friends - and she needs to focus on him and his needs, not get tangled up in her own feelings. He asked her here to help him through his emotional turmoil, and that’s exactly what she needs to do. Not to mention that she already has a sort-of boyfriend, and that the rumors were probably already spreading just from her staying in Zuko’s room, despite what he said on the day of her arrival. Yes, it was definitely better that those things stay strictly in the realm of fantasy.

She yawns and pulls back the covers, and freezes in place as cool air touches her skin. _All_ of her skin. Looking down, she discovers that she is completely naked.

_Oh._

She quickly pulls the sheets up around her chest, her mind reeling. All traces of sleep are banished and replaced by the sinking realization that that wasn’t just a nice dream after all. She glances back at Zuko to make sure his attention is still occupied. She needs to get to her clothes. She quietly swings a leg out of bed and cringes when her foot touches the ground. Everything returns to her in vivid detail as she steps in soggy patches of carpet on her way to the washroom. She bends the water out as she sprints across the floor. By the time she reaches her destination she has a small globe of water, but when she sees the state of the bathroom she almost drops it right back onto the floor.

Water is pooled everywhere and has dried in streaks down the sides of the obsidian tub. The shampoo bottle has been knocked over and its contents are spilled not far from where her sodden dress and wrappings are piled along with Zuko’s white silk pants. She thanks the spirits that she is a waterbender. After hastily putting on a set of clean clothes, it is quick work to pull the water out of their clothes and off of the floor, and a towel takes care of the streaks. When she finishes she feels as though she has cleaned up a crime scene; if she eliminates all traces perhaps they can pretend that it never happened.

Satisfied with her work, she goes about cleaning her teeth and washing her face. Her thoughts spin and she wishes she could stay in this room all day. What was she _thinking_? What kind of person was she to take advantage of someone – her _best_ friend – while he was mourning? She should have known better. She is certain that there is a special place in Koh’s lair waiting just for her when she crosses into the spirit world. Glancing in the mirror, she feels a genuine moment of despair: her hair is a wild nest of tangles and knots. She sighs and gropes for her comb, thinking she may just get her wish of being stuck in this room all day. Then it hits her.

The parchment is gone. She looks back at her own reflection and allows herself a small smile. At least something good has come out of this.

When she emerges from the washroom sometime later, he has donned a fresh set of white robes and is pulling his hair into a top knot. With practiced precision he affixes the crown in his hair and slides the pin into place. He smiles when he sees her, and she can’t help but notice that he looks healthier. Amazing what a shave and a bath and… physical activity can do for a person. She immediately curses herself for the thought.

He approaches her, leaning down to give her a causal peck on the cheek like it is the most natural thing in the world. “Good morning. Would you like to have breakfast _out_ of bed for a change?”

As they walk through the halls of the palace, servants smile and bow in his wake. She might just be imagining it, but she can’t help but detect a certain look in their eyes. She groans inwardly as she remembers how loud she was, and the guards at the door. Oh Tui and La, they know! It is all she can do not to turn around and run back to Zuko’s room.

The meal that the chef prepares for them is delicious, but she barely tastes it. She is glad that Zuko doesn’t seem talkative this morning, as she is preoccupied by her own thoughts. Since the moment she arrived, everything about this trip has been confounding. There is no good answer to her current dilemma, and she is torn with how to proceed. She can’t deny that Zuko seems to be in a better mood; the fact that he is dressed and out of his bedroom for the first time in a week is no small victory. But what is she supposed to do now? Does she just pray that it was a one-time event, a heat of the moment decision, and that it never comes up again? What does she say if it does? What if he wants a... _repeat performance?_ The very thought of it sends heat to the roots of her hair and she almost chokes on her rice. She tries to determine if she is strong enough to overcome that temptation should it present itself, and if so how to go about it so that she doesn’t hurt his feelings. She doesn’t want to damage their friendship, and she doesn’t want to make his mourning process any more difficult than it already is… She barely restrains her hand from hitting her forehead. How could she have put herself in this position?

When they are finished, he pockets two rolls and smiles at her. “Didn’t you say you wanted to feed the turtleducks?”

“Oh! Of course.” She does her best to smile back at him.

He leads her to the gardens and when she steps outside she realizes just how much she had missed the fresh air and the feeling of the sun on her face. Despite her predicament, she can’t deny the excitement that grows as they approach the pond and feels that perhaps this will distract her for a while and give her time to gather her thoughts. Plus, they can avoid going back to his room for a little longer, where it will just be the two of them.

She kneels down at the edge of the pond and he settles on a stone bench nearby. The turtleducks swim quickly in her direction when she touches the water and alerts them to her presence. Zuko reaches into his robes and pulls out two rolls and tosses them to her.

“Don’t you want to feed them?”

He shrugs. “They see me all the time. It’s you they’ve missed.”

When the bread is gone and the last of the turtleducks have drifted to other parts of the pond, she joins him on the bench. She can’t quite read the look he is giving her and she is having a hard time meeting his eyes. Her gaze drops to her lap and she starts smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of her dress. “So… how do you feel today?”

He seems to think for a moment. “Better. Sad, but better.” He leans back on the bench and closes his eyes. “You were right; it feels good to be out in the sun.”

She can’t help herself. “Told you so.”

“But it’s not just that. You know that.” He opens his eyes again and looks at her, his eyes flicking briefly toward her lips. “Last night – “

“Zuko!” She hisses, glancing around at the bushes. Spirits help her, he was bringing it up already! And she hadn’t yet come up with a plan! “Is it really a good idea to talk about that here?”

The barest flush tints his cheeks. “What? No, you didn’t let me finish. Last night, you said some really important things, and I’ve been thinking about them a lot this morning. Mostly about regret.” His eyes pop and he waves his palms in front of him. “Not that I regret what happened! I’m not saying that at all! It would be the opposite, in fact –“

 _“Zuko!!”_ Her voice grinds out between her teeth.

“Right, sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Anyway. What I meant to say was that I was thinking about regret and things that happened a long time ago. I’m not very good at letting things go, and I tend to punish myself a lot over the things that I’ve done. Most of those you know about already. I think maybe I hang onto those things because I don’t trust myself, like if I am constantly reminded of my mistakes I won’t make them again. But there are some things that I regret that I _didn’t_ do as well. And in light of…certain circumstances, I thought now might be as good a time as any to put one regret to rest.”

He reaches into his robes and she is immediately on edge. What is he talking about? Her mind spins with the possibilities, each one potentially more anxiety provoking than the last. She suddenly is very aware of the muscles in her face and isn’t sure what to do with them. By the time he looks back up at her she hopes she isn’t grimacing.

He finally finds what he was looking for, and she relaxes a little. In his hands is a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to her and she hopes he doesn’t notice the tremor in her hands as she takes it.

“I meant to give you this, years ago. On the day of my coronation, actually. Well, really it was supposed to be before that, but it went with a gift, and it took forever for it to be delivered - something about a volcano destroying the nearest crop and having to take extra time for import…”

She is utterly confused. “Wait, what? What gift?”

“Panda lilies.” His unscarred cheek colors, and for a moment he seems so young. Her mind flashes to the day of his coronation, and the scene that she spent months trying to forget. But then it hits her – it was a detail that she hadn’t thought twice about, but it was burned into her memory with everything else: the sunlight, the red drapes, and a crystal vase overflowing with panda lilies.

Her heart squeezes and her voice comes out as a whisper. “Those were for me?”

“Yeah, I – wait, you saw them?”

Her brain catches up with her mouth and she goes into immediate damage control. “Well, I um, saw some flowers when I was looking for you that morning. They might not have been the same ones.”

“Oh. Well, that morning, I was going to give you the flowers along with that note. But then there wasn’t time. I was going to try again after the reception, but you were tired and had to get up early the next morning to leave with Aang…”

Her heart sinks. She blinks a few times to relieve the sudden sting in her eyes. “I wish you would have given them to me. I bet they were beautiful.”

“Me too. I regret it, which is why I’m telling you now. I had this whole speech prepared…” He pauses and looks off into the distance, that same funny look on his face. “Anyway, I’m not close to many people. Other than Uncle, there’s no one I trust more than you. That’s why I asked you to come with me on the night of Sozin’s Comet, and that’s why I asked you to come here as soon as I found out about my mother. I don’t like keeping secrets from you, so I thought I should finally share this with you, for what it’s worth.”

She looks down at the paper in her hand. The creases are straight and neat but the edges are worn, and she can remember as if it were yesterday how he had worried that paper in his hands as he had stood in her doorway that morning. She is almost afraid to open it, but she knows he wants her to, so she takes a deep breath and unfolds the note.

_For Katara, my moral compass. – Zuko_

She knows that he is giving this to her with the best of intentions, but all she feels as she stares at the characters on the page is a deep, suffocating shame. This is the last thing that she needs to see. It serves as a glaring reminder of her poor judgment, her failure to do what’s right. He had said, all those nights ago, that he needed someone to protect him from what he wanted, and she had thought she was just the person for the job. She didn’t realize that she needed the same protection for herself. And now everything had fallen apart. Some moral compass she turned out to be.

She refolds it carefully and holds it out to him. “Zuko, I can’t take this.”

He frowns. “Why not? It’s just a note.”

He is blurry in her vision. “Because you can’t trust me. I’ve let you down at the time you needed me most, and I am so, so sorry.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve done nothing but help me!” He seems to catch on and panic tints his features. “Is this about last night? You don’t regret that do you? Because I would never want – oh Agni, you _did_ want that, right? – Because even before we – “

His sputtering is cut off by a voice coming across the garden. “Fire Lord Zuko!”

She is saved from this conversation by the Dragon of the West; Iroh is jogging toward them up the stone path that leads to the garden. Katara quickly turns away and blinks away the last of her tears before forcing a smile on her face.

Zuko stands to greet his uncle, who envelops him in a strong hug. All the while, Zuko’s concerned eyes are fixed on Katara over Iroh’s shoulder. “Zuko, I came as soon as I could. Curse that weather! I was so sorry to hear about Ursa. She was an honorable woman.”

“Thank you, Uncle. I’m glad you were able to arrive safely.”

Iroh pulls away from Zuko and holds him by the shoulders. “You look to be in good health, I am happy to see. How have you been faring?”

“As well as can be expected. Katara arrived a few days ago; her help has been invaluable in maintaining my sanity.” He gives her a pointed look.

Iroh shifts over to her and his arms come up around her shoulders. “Katara, my dear, thank you so much for being here. It warms my heart to know that Zuko can count on his friends when his uncle fails him.”

She wants to laugh; at the absurdity of the situation, at the irony of Iroh’s comment. But she just smiles softly. “I was glad to be here for him.”

They settle down on the bench with Zuko in between them. Iroh grows serious. “Have you interred your mother’s ashes yet, my nephew?”

Zuko shakes his head. “No. I was waiting for you.”

Iroh looks relieved. “Thank you. I hope her spirit will forgive me for the delay, but I very much wanted to be present, for myself as well as for you.”

“I’m sure she understands.”

“Well, we should not delay much longer. Perhaps this afternoon? Fate has it that this is the seventh day after her death, it would be good to perform the rites before sunset.” Iroh leans around Zuko and gives her a look of regret. “I’m sorry, my dear, but only family is allowed to be present during the ceremony.”

Zuko shoots him a look. “Uncle, Katara _is_ family.”

Iroh gives him a sympathetic look. “Zuko, you know how the Fire Sages are about these things. They would never allow it.”

“I’m the Fire Lord, they – “

“Zuko.” She lays a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, I understand. Go with your uncle. I’ll be waiting for you.” She tries to muster her most genuine smile.

Iroh bids her goodbye and leads Zuko down the path toward the palace, leaving her on the bench in the garden. As they walk away, Zuko keeps glancing behind him, and she hates herself for the pain on his face.

That afternoon, while Zuko and his uncle are preparing for his mother’s ceremony, she stops at the docks and buys passage for a ship heading south. She returns to the palace to collect her belongings and boards the ship at sunset. She stands at the railing and watches the islands grow smaller in the distance. She mourns for the friendship she has damaged and the mistakes she has made. It hurts to leave him like this, but it’s for the best, she knows it its. She takes comfort in the fact that his uncle will care for him as she sails farther and father away.


	8. Chapter 8

She settles back into her life at the South Pole. For months, she watches the skies for hawks with red ribbons, but none ever appear. The silence hurts the worst, even hateful angry letters would be better than this. From her correspondence with Iroh, she knows that his reaction to her disappearance resulted in an accelerated renovation plan for a portion of the north wing of the palace. She hates that she hurt him, but she believes in her heart that she would have only hurt him more had she stayed.

The seasons pass and she works hard training the village’s waterbenders and delights as they grow and advance under her teaching. Aang’s visits increase in frequency, and occasionally she even accompanies him on short trips to the Earth Kingdom. She can’t deny the fun that they have together and they quickly fall back into the easiness that they felt during the early years after the war. It doesn’t take long before she finds herself a renewed expert at making vegetarian meals or saddling Appa. When they are together in the South Pole, she almost forgets to scan the skies for messages.

She enjoys her time with Aang, and the weight in her chest that she had carried since leaving the Fire Nation starts to lighten. She does her best to keep things casual with Aang; she remembers quite vividly how this ended last time. But she knows that he feels strongly about her and it is hard not to get caught up in it. Then, on her birthday, he presents her with two surprises. The first is that he is planning to begin renovation of the Southern Air Temple for the purposes of taking up permanent residence. The second is a betrothal necklace.

At first she is speechless. With the demands of being the Avatar and his nomadic roots, she had thought he would never settle down. She had been avoiding a serious relationship with him because she didn’t think he would ever be able to meet her halfway, and thus hadn’t ever really let herself consider what a life with him could be like. But as he holds out the necklace between shaking fingers he explains that he can make it work, that he wants to make their love his greatest priority. Before she knows what she is doing, she throws her arms around him and accepts. A small part of her heart aches at the doors that this decision will close, but she does her best to focus on the part that is rejoicing with plans for the future.

Wedding invitations are carried off by a veritable fleet of hawks, and slowly the responses trickle in from all over the world. She and Aang work to restore the temple during the day and then open the responses they receive together in the evenings during meals. They grow increasingly excited as they read the congratulatory messages from their friends and their promises to be in attendance. She tells herself that it doesn’t matter, but she notices that they have not yet received a response from the Fire Nation royal palace. She tells herself that she only wishes that he would respond because she needs a formal headcount for seating arrangements. And she never does receive a direct response; a hawk carrying Iroh’s message from Ba Sing Se informs her that he and his nephew will be in attendance. She isn’t sure if she should feel relieved or disappointed or nervous when she reads that scroll.

The morning of the ceremony the temple is a bustle of activity. Guests have arrived days in advance and she hears their voices as they echo throughout the stone halls. After she finishes bathing, she carefully lays out her wedding clothes on her bed and admires them as she ties the sash on her dressing robe. She sits down at her vanity to begin brushing her hair when there is a knock at her door.

She rolls her eyes and smiles. “Aang, you aren’t supposed to see me this morning, it’s bad luck!”

The door opens just a crack, and she is about to turn in her chair and yells playfully for him to get out, but before she can a voice drifts into the room. “It’s not Aang.”

Her hand pauses mid-stroke, and her eyes grow wide in the mirror. She hates the way her heart skips traitorously at the sound of that voice, and the way her brain mutinously flashes images of long pale fingers against her bare skin. She doesn’t know when her throat had gone dry, but she has to swallow thickly before calling for him to come in.

He steps inside and closes the door softly behind him. Under one arm he carries what looks like a small chest. His face is carefully controlled as he nods his head in her direction in greeting. “Good morning, Master Katara.”

His formality makes her heart sink, but if this is the way he wants it, then so be it. She gives him a shallow bow. “Thank you for coming, Fire Lord Zuko. I wasn’t sure if you would be able to make it.”

“Attending the Avatar’s wedding is of political importance. If I were absent from such an event, the nobles in my nation and in others would wonder if alliances had been damaged.”

 _Ouch._ “Alliances? Aang is your friend, Zuko, not just the Avatar. And so am I.”

The delay in his response tells her all she needs to know. The corners of his mouth eventually twitch upward temporarily before he states, “Of course.”

The moment stretches out as they look at one another. He seems unfazed, but for Katara the silence is constricting and she has no time for whatever game he is trying to play. “…Is there something I can do for you?”

He holds out the box. “I have a gift.”

He approaches her and presents her with an elaborately carved wooden box. She hefts the weight of it in her hands, and turns to set it aside. “Thank you, Zuko. I’ll put it with the other wedding gifts, if that’s alright.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder long enough to stop her before dropping his arm to his side. “No. This is for you. Just for you.”

She gives him a sideways glance, not sure what to think. She sets the box down on a chair while he stands a respectful distance away, waiting. Slowly, she slides back the top of the box to reveal its contents.

Inside is a collection of scrolls. She takes one out, the parchment dry and delicate under her fingers. Carefully, she unrolls the first scroll, and her breath catches in her throat. The characters on the page are careful and precise, bedecked with flourishes, though the ink has turned from black to brown with age. But it is not the script that catches her attention; it is the faded illustration at the top: a portrait of a woman wearing a wide brimmed hat trimmed with a veil, and a face decorated with crimson paint. Her eyes flick to the scroll’s title: _The Collected Legends of the Painted Lady._

“Do you remember her? Because I do. She was a tempest in my arms.”

She hangs her head and rolls the scroll shut, setting it back in the box. “Zuko…”

“No. Listen to me. You owe me that, at least. If you want to break your promise from all of those years ago, fine. But my honor will not let me abandon mine. So I’m here to fulfill that obligation.” He gestures at the wedding clothes that are draped across her bed. “This is wrong, Katara. It’s a lie.”

She turns away from him so he can’t see her face. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? All those years ago, you asked me to help you be more true to yourself, and I will tell you that _nothing_ felt more honest or genuine than what happened between us. And you know it too.”

“What do you know? You haven’t even spoken to me in ages! Besides, it was you who wanted a sounding board because you aren’t always sure what’s right! I know myself and what I want, and this is the right thing to do. Aang is a good man, and I love him.” It was supposed to come out strong and defiant, but by the end her voice sounds hollow even to her own ears. On instinct, she reaches for the pendant at her neck, to soothe away the hurt she feels. But the carvings feel foreign under her fingertips, a reminder that wind and air have replaced the waves at her throat.

He steps closer to her, hovers into the edges of her vision. He tilts his head, and his features soften incrementally. “I know you do. But that’s not the whole truth, is it?”

She hates him for doing this to her now, of all times, and she hates him for knowing exactly what to say to get under her skin. Most of all she hates him for being right. But to admit it would be to risk watching everything unravel. She tries to muster up some indignation and hopes that her face does not betray her when she turns to face him. “The _truth_ is that it was an emotional week and we both got caught up in the moment. That’s it.” She tries to hold his gaze, to stare him down, but she falters and her eyes skip away from his more than once.

He narrows his eyes at her, but in a way that seems more curious than angry. “Why are you lying? You know it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t simply an impulse; it goes back much further.”

Before she can protest he surprises her by taking her hand and carefully placing it on his chest, where she knows he bears a significant scar under his heavy robes. Her eyes slide closed as she remembers crackling blue light and the feeling of ice encasing her heart as she thought she had lost him, the rage she had felt that he might be taken from her. She had fought for him then with every fiber of her being, only to give him up twice later on. And now she knows she has to do it again.

When she opens her eyes he is watching her. His steady gaze seems to look right through her; it makes her feel ashamed of the things she is leaving unsaid. But while some truths must be kept locked away, others are evident. She pulls her hand away and hugs her arms, sighing in resignation. “It doesn’t matter. In a few hours I’m getting married. Aang loves me. We’re going to be very happy together.”

He gives her a shadow of a smile. “I hope you are. I mean that, you deserve it. And I hope someday you can tell me that with a straight face.”

With that he pivots around and exits the room. She almost chases him to the door and calls after him, but doesn’t. What’s left to say? She takes a deep shuddering breath and wipes at her eyes before she shakes her head and tries to focus on the task at hand. She sits down at the vanity and begins threading beads in her hair with trembling hands. Shortly afterward Suki arrives to help her into her robes. When she looks in the mirror, she stands tall and pulls her shoulders back, and with one final nod reminds herself that this is what she wants.

The ceremony is beautiful, and she is thrilled to share this moment with all of the friends and family members in attendance. Though he may be a grown man now, Aang’s eyes light up when he sees her, and he grins like he did when they were young. When he lifts her veil away he whispers how beautiful she looks, and she blushes in earnest. When they speak their vows and promise to love and cherish each other, she means it. She does love Aang; that is the truth. And now that they are bound to each other, she only hopes that other truths will fade away, into the past where they belong.

The party afterward is filled with food and music and friends. She dances with her brother and her father, and even Haru and The Duke. But mostly she dances with Aang. When the tempo is quick and pounding, they laugh as they replicate the bending-inspired dance that they created during the war. When the tempo slows, he holds her close and they sway together on the dance floor. It is during one of these times that she catches Zuko watching her from the edge of the crowd, a soft smile on his lips. Her heart breaks a little at the sincerity on his face and the hint of pain she sees in his eyes. Aang spins her in a circle and the faces blur. When she scans the crowd afterward he is gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Less than a year later a hawk with a red ribbon finds its way to the temple. The message inside invites Avatar Aang and his wife Master Katara to celebrate the marriage of Fire Lord Zuko to Lady Mai. Part of her is relieved when Aang insists that she cannot possibly attend; he rubs the swell of her belly and proclaims that travel would be much too dangerous for her at that time. She doesn’t argue with him; they have both been so excited and careful to make sure that their first child is born healthy that taking additional risks would be foolish. Instead, he promises to share every detail with her and bring back gossip from the Fire Nation Capitol. When he returns, he tells her of the lavish and somber ceremony, the breathtaking decorations, and of the people in attendance. She asks him to describe Mai’s robes, and he does, though he gives her a funny look. When she questions him about it, he smiles and shares the juiciest piece of gossip: though her robes were spectacular, some couldn’t help but notice they fit a bit tightly through the middle when she stood in profile. The rumor was that the heir to the Fire Nation throne might come a bit early for the Fire Sages’ taste.

Aang is a proud and loving father when their first son is born, but Katara can see how carefully he watches Bumi for any signs of bending ability. When none appear, she knows he is at least a touch disappointed. And though the Air Temple is his home, Aang has many duties that require his attention, and more often than not, Katara and Bumi are left to themselves while Aang travels the world. When their daughter is born and proves to be a waterbender, Katara trains her with particular joy.

The years pass, and with Aang’s frequent absence, Katara throws herself into the task of motherhood. She cannot deny that it is a role that she loves, and she invests in it wholeheartedly. She finds a quiet contentment in her daily life, though there are days when she catches herself wiping the same dish over and over, fantasizing about her youth and the excitement of it all. She wonders, sometimes, as she drifts off to sleep, if her fifteen-year-old self would have imagined this as her future and decided it was enough.

When Aang is home he delights in playing with the children, and his affection for her never wanes. They take occasional trips with him, and the children squeal with joy at riding on Appa and take in new environments with wide-eyed enthusiasm. On one occasion, they travel to the Fire Nation for Aang to attend a summit. They stay in the palace at the Fire Lord’s request, and she can’t help but be haunted by the shadows that lead to the wing where he sleeps.

By the second day after their arrival she still hasn’t seen Zuko, but she rarely sees Aang either, as both men attend day long meetings. In the afternoon, she gathers her children and gives them a tour of the palace. She points out the things that she remembers from Zuko’s tour years ago, explaining the identity of the people in the grand portraits and letting them explore some of the grand but empty rooms. On their way past the kitchens she stops to pocket a few rolls and leads them to the gardens.

When they arrive, a little girl with black hair and a tiny crown in her hair is spread out on a blanket and reading a scroll while a nanny sits not far away in the shade. When the little girl looks up, Katara is stunned by her delicate features and her heart squeezes at how much she resembles her father.

Bumi lets go of her hand and sprints for the pond, pointing excitedly. “Look Mom! Turtleducks! Can we feed them?”

She makes her way toward the pond and hands him a roll, with Kya clinging to her skirts. She settles near the edge, and pulls Kya into her lap. “Now, there’s a special way to get their attention. Would you like me to show you?”

He nods and she touches the surface of the water with one finger, sending ripples out into the pond. It doesn’t take long for the mother turtleduck and her babies to come swimming over, eager to eat the bread out of her hand. Bumi emulates his mother carefully and Katara hands a few bits to Kya to toss into the water. 

From over her shoulder, she hears a small voice. “Would you like to hold one?”

The little girl is standing a few paces away. Bumi can barely restrain his enthusiasm. “Yes! Mom, can I?”

She nods and sets Kya aside, standing back and making room for the princess. She holds out her hand for a piece of bread and she uses it to coax one of the little ones near. “You have to use very slow movements, and you have to make friends with the momma turtleduck first. Otherwise she might bite you. Father showed me how.”

Katara steps back and settles on the stone bench nearby. She smiles as she watches the children play; even Kya seems to warm up after a few minutes and hesitantly reaches out to pet the tiny animal cradled in the princess’s hands. She can’t help but reflect on the scene, musing that it had probably been decades since fire nation royalty had played with children from other nations.

She is startled out of her thoughts when the little girl looks up suddenly and grins. “Father!”

Katara turns to see the Fire Lord casually strolling down the path. When he sees his daughter running to greet him he crouches down and holds his arms open. He smiles as she throws her arms around his neck. He picks her up and carries her the short distance to the garden. As they approach Katara can hear their conversation.

“Have you been practicing your letters as I asked?”

“Yes, Father. I’ve been working at it all afternoon, just ask Ying! I only stopped for a little while to play.”

“Very good. How was your firebending lesson?”

“I learned a new move today! Can I show it to you later?”

He smiles at her. “I would like that. It sounds like you’ve been very busy; why don’t you spend the rest of the afternoon playing with our guests?” He sets her down. “Go on now, have fun. But no bending, these children aren’t firebenders.”

She runs back to the pond and the two older children start up a game of tag. Katara picks Kya up and moves her away from the edge of the pond, setting her in the grass to play. When she returns to the bench Zuko has seated himself at one end.

He smiles at her, and for the first time she notices the lines that crinkle around his good eye. “Your children are beautiful.”

She smiles back. “Thank you. So is yours. She looks like you.”

He nods and for a moment they both just enjoy the sun and watch the children play. She hates herself for how right it feels, but she chooses to ignore the pang in her chest and enjoy the moment for what it is.

He breaks the silence, his voice soft. “Are you happy, Katara?” His eyes break away from the scene in front of them to look at her.

She continues to watch the children play. “In this moment? Yes.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her. “And in other moments?”

She turns her head to look at him. A passing breeze catches a few strands of his hair and she can’t help but remember the feel of it between her fingers. She swallows once and gives him a small smile before answering. “Of course.”

He studies her face and she resists the urge to squirm. Then he shakes his head, one side of his mouth curving upward. He reaches over and lightly covers her hand with his own. “You never were a good liar, Katara. But I hope that the next time I see you it will be true.”

She opens her mouth to object, but he is already standing up to leave. “I have to get back to the summit. Enjoy the rest of the afternoon.” And with that he strides back down the path.

She doesn’t see him again for the rest of the trip, and she tries not to feel too disappointed. She expected him to see them off at least. But she knows that he has many demands on his time, much like her husband, and some things can’t be helped.

When the first message is delivered from the Fire Nation palace a few weeks after they return home, she is surprised. She hasn’t received a letter from him in years, and can’t imagine what he could have to say. When she removes the scroll from the cylinder on the hawks back, she almost fears that it must be bad news If Zuko is sending her any type of correspondence.

There is no bad news, simply a request for advice on a political matter. The letter is dry and emotionless, except for the post script at the bottom which explains that on the second page she will find a picture that his daughter drew for her children, and a note for Bumi that she proudly composed all on her own.

It takes her some time to form a reply. At first she wants to tell him that he can’t just start sending her letters all of a sudden after years of silence. She had disqualified herself as his moral compass years ago, after all, and since then even he had questioned her honesty and choices on more than one occasion. But instead she relents and considers the predicament that he is describing and gives him her advice. Maybe she can’t be honest with him in all things, but she can at least still give him this. She waits for Bumi to pen his own reply and then sends the hawk back to warmer climates.

Another hawk arrives a few weeks later, and another after that. They become regular enough that she can often predict their arrival, and when they are a day or two late she feels disappointed. Her children look forward to the hawks with red ribbons as well, as they often contain spiced candy and notes from the princess.

And for some reason, this makes her happy. Though she loves Aang and enjoys caring for their children, this somehow makes her feel complete. She may not be able to travel the world with Aang, but this way she can at least feel connected to one small part of it. Her letters gradually become longer and include updates on the children and goings-on around the temple. Occasionally, though not always, he includes a brief sentence or two about his daughter’s bending progress or her constant requests that the chef make five-flavor soup.

The years pass, her children grow, her hair gradually turns from brown to white, her husband trains their second son to airbend, and the letters keep coming. Her firstborn joins the military, her daughter leaves to explore the world, her husband begins to train air acolytes in the way of his people, and the letters keep coming. With all of the changes in her life, it is this thing that remains as constant as the cycles of the moon. Maybe it wasn’t want she thought her life would be, but for a while, it seems like enough.


	10. Chapter 10

There is a hole in her sleeve.

Well, it isn’t _her_ sleeve, not technically. It belongs to her nephew who is visiting during the arctic summer, who has just returned with the rest of the men from a hunt. The way he tells it, a polar leopard jumped down from a bank of snow, and he dramatically wrestled it to the ground, tearing his sleeve on its sharp claws. The way the other men tell it, he wasn’t watching where he was going and caught it on the edge of another man’s spear as they tracked a pack of snow antelope. Either way, she has offered to fix it, and she spends some time that morning making slow, careful stitches. Her hands are not as steady as they once were, and some of the stitches are crooked or too long, but her nephew still praises her work and thanks her for her help. His smile and his voice remind her so much of her brother that she sometimes has to remind herself to breathe.

But her brother has passed on to the spirit world, along with many of her friends and her husband. She won’t hear Sokka’s voice again, just as she will never see Toph’s sarcastic smirk or feel Aang’s warmth as he held her close. Aang’s passing had hit her hard, and within a few months she had returned to the South Pole. Staying at the temple proved to be too painful, but more than that, she knew that his spirit would be reborn in the Water Tribe. With any luck, she might be able to reconnect with him, if only in a limited way. Her daughter had helped her settle back into the tribe and had kept her company for a few months until her grief had receded. After a while, she came to appreciate being back with her tribe, and the cold air felt good in her lungs and on her stiff joints.

There is only one other member of Team Avatar left, and his letters still arrive with regularity. She has come to expect them twice a month, around the full and the new moon. What she does _not_ expect is the unannounced arrival of his ship one afternoon in the spring. As soon as she hears the commotion of people passing outside her window she puts on her thickest coat and joins the crowd headed for the docks.

The bow of the ship creaks and lowers to create a staircase, and he exits the ship flanked by two guards. A distant part of her mind conjures up images of the last time this happened, almost sixty years ago. But instead of an angry young man in armor marching toward the ice, there is now an older man taking measured steps toward the crowd. Instead of black his hair is striped with white and gray, and though it is kept in a neat half-topknot, his crown is missing. And instead of fear, what she feels is elation.

She makes her way to the head of the crowd and though the new chief gives her a look, she pushes past him and stands ready to be the first to greet him. As soon as Zuko sees her he smiles, and he holds her gaze until he is standing in front of her.

He bows to her and she to him, and then they regard each other for a long moment before he finally breaks out into a grin.

“Surprise.”

At that she flings her arms around his neck. He pulls her close and she breathes him in, the scent of him so familiar that she feels young again, if only for a moment.

She pulls away and gives him a wry smile. “Isn’t the Fire Lord too busy to make unannounced visits? That’s what you always told me, anyway.”

“The Fire Lord, perhaps. But former Fire Lords can do as they please.” He shrugs and gestures to his head. “My daughter’s coronation was last week. She may or may not have strongly suggested that I take a vacation to celebrate my retirement. I have the feeling that she didn’t like my hovering around the office.”

“There’s a surprise: Zuko has trouble letting go.”

The flush in his cheeks from the cold deepens a shade. Before he can respond, the new chief of the tribe approaches and bows at the waist.

“Your highness! Let me be the… second to welcome you to our tribe. I apologize for the informality; had we known you were coming we would have been better prepared to receive you.”

Katara rolls her eyes. “Save it, Tonraq. He’s not here on an official visit. I have a feeling this is personal. Am I right?”

Zuko nods. “Quite so. Thank you for your hospitality, but there’s no need to go out of your way. My ship has all of the accommodations that my crew and I require, if you would grant permission for us to dock here for a few days.”

Before he can say any more, she pulls on his arm and threads hers through his, leading him away from the docks, with Tonraq still calling out after them to be sure to inform the tribal leaders right away if he should need anything. When they are a distance away from the crowds, he leans in and speaks low into her ear. “Still bossy after all this time, I see. Don’t you peasants have any respect for authority?”

She elbows him gently. “We _peasants_ have respect for our elders, and it doesn’t get much older than me around here.”

He makes a show of thinking about this for a moment, and then says, “How fortuitous for me. As _your_ elder, I suspect that you are obligated by peasant custom to show me your utmost respect.”

She smirks at him. “Don’t count on it. Dirty firebenders are exempt. Especially ones whose names include the letter ‘Z’.”

“Is that so? And I suppose there is a clause that cranky waterbending masters who have trained the Avatar and whose names start with the letter ‘K’ are deserving of extra respect.”

“Now you’re catching on. I always said you were smart, Zuko. Now come on, let me show you around.”

His dry laughter rings out across the snowbanks as they approach the seaside town.

* * *

 

Despite Zuko’s requests that no one go out of their way, Tonraq insists on throwing an impromptu feast at the recently renovated lodge in honor of their guest. The most important people in town are in attendance and the food is hot and traditional and good. They eat near the head of the table and Zuko informs the chief that he would like to contribute to the feast; he has two crates of good fire wine on his ship which he would be honored to share. Tonraq graciously accepts and Zuko nods at his guards standing off to one wall. They return a short time later and toasts are shared once the corks are popped. Whenever Zuko’s eyes meet hers across the table, she blames the warmth that spreads through her body on the wine.

After dinner, Katara takes his arm once more and leads him through the nearby shopping district near the port. They get more than their fair share of looks from the locals, but he doesn’t seem to notice. As they wander down the main road, she can’t help but smile as his eyes flit from one building to the next.

“Things certainly look different than the last time I was here. I remember it when it was no more than two dozen people and half as many huts.”

A Satomobile rumbles past. “That tends to happen over the course of a few decades.” She gives him a chastising look. “You would know that if you had bothered to visit more often.”

“I knew from your letters. But I thought I should come see it at least once for myself.”

She grips his arm a little more tightly and grins up at him. “Ah, I see. You’ve come all the way from the balmy beaches of the Fire Nation to the tundra of the South Pole just to see our advances in architecture.”

He keeps a neutral expression and keeps his eyes focused ahead, but she can see the merriment in them. “Of course, why else would I come? The Fire Nation should be kept abreast of any advances made by developing nations. Issues of national security, you understand.”

“Gathering intelligence for the new Fire Lord, are you?”

His blank expression cracks and he smirks at her. “Is there any here to be found?"

She smacks his arm. “I take it back, what I said about you being smart.”

“I’m crushed. And why’s that?” "Because you are in the presence of a master waterbender surrounded by ice and snow. You might want to reconsider who you share your snarky secret spy plans with.”

“But I’ve always shared my secret spy plans with you. If I recall correctly, you even participated in one.”

She makes a show of looking shocked. “Not so loud, you’ll tarnish my sparkling reputation.”

He chuckles. “You might have everyone else fooled, but I’ve always known better.”

A sad smile touches her lips. “Yeah. I guess you always have.”

After going down a few more side streets, the ocean opens up to their view, and a crescent moon hangs brightly in the sky. Their footsteps echo out over the water as they walk along the wooden planks of the docks. They can see his ship a short distance away, with two guards posted outside. He gives her a wary look. “Are you sure you will be safe walking home alone? At least take one of my men with you.”

“Zuko, please. I may be old, but I’m still quite capable of protecting myself.” For emphasis, she pulls a thin tendril of water out of the harbor and smacks his arm with it. “I’ll be just fine. Besides, crime here is low and attacking an elder is especially dishonorable.”

He rubs his arm. “Certainly didn’t keep you from attacking me.”

“I thought we went over this already. Firebenders don’t count. Even if they were world leaders.”

He gives her a long-suffering look, but one corner of his mouth curves upward. His features may be carved with wrinkles now, but his expression hasn’t changed. “You are insufferable, did you know that? Now I remember why I never came to visit you before.”

She crosses her arms and smirks. “I thought you were here as a spy.”

He gives her his most dignified expression. “I am. And as such, I am required to do more thorough reconnaissance. It is my mission to learn more about the daily lives of the citizens here. To help fulfill this task, I would request that we spend the day together tomorrow, beginning in the morning with tea.”

She plays along. “And what would I get in return for betraying my tribe’s secrets?”

“What would you like?”

He is only joking, but the look in his eyes stirs memories of his touch from when their bodies were firm and their skin was smooth. She sighs dramatically to cover the pang of longing that appears in her chest. “I guess I’ll have to consider that more carefully. In the meantime I suppose I’ll just have to be satisfied with the pleasure of your company, such as it is.”

He nods once. “Then it’s settled. I’ll bring the ginseng.”

“You don’t still rise with the sun, do you? Because I can promise you that if you show up at my house at dawn you will be spending the early hours waiting in the snow on my porch.”

He rolls his eyes. “Have it your way. Mid-morning then.”

“Agreed.” She takes a step closer to him. “And Zuko?”

“Yes?”

She gives him a genuine smile. “I’m glad that you’re here.”

He smiles and pulls her in for a brief hug. “I am too.” She gives him directions to her home and bids him goodnight. She can’t help but glance over her shoulder at him as she leaves the docks, and she is surprised to catch his eyes as he does the same. He puts his hand out and waves. As she walks the short distance to her home, she wonders how she will be able to sleep that night.

* * *

The knock on her door the next morning causes her heart to skip. She knows that she is just being silly; she is an old woman now and she shouldn’t be putting so much effort into preparing for an old friend to come over for tea, but she can’t help but tidy things up around the house and check her hair loopies in the mirror more than once. She straightens her robes on her way to answer the door.

When she opens the door her breath catches in her throat. Though his smile is as warm as always, it is not his expression or the look in his eyes that catches her off guard this time. Instead, it is the way he is dressed. Over his robes he wears a long black coat trimmed in thick white fur at the sleeves and collar. A wide golden band of fabric runs down the center, overlaid with shining red buttons the size of copper pieces. She does her best to wipe the look of surprise from her face. _Well played, Zuko._ She welcomes him inside and accepts the bag of tea that he hands her.

She offers him a cushion to sit on and gathers a teapot and two cups. She settles down across from him as he heats the water and steeps the leaves. She tries to downplay her discomfort by resuming their banter from the day before. “Ready to begin your espionage for the day?”

He pours tea into the first cup and hands it to her. “Yes. I am ready to uncover the secrets of the Southern Water Tribe, starting with those belonging to one of its most prominent members.” He gives her a pointed look.

She swallows. “Funny, I thought it was traditional in the Fire Nation to make polite conversation before getting down to business.”

He finishes pouring himself a cup of tea. “You’re right of course, though small talk was never my strong suit. It’s typical in my country to exchange compliments and pleasantries at the beginning of conversations. So let me begin by saying what a lovely home you have.”

“Thank you. Kya helped me decorate when I moved back to the south. She has quite an eye for aesthetics; she must get it from her uncle.”

He makes a face. “Sokka?”

“Yes.” Her heart warms at the memory. “He wasn’t artistically talented, I’m sure you remember that. But he did have a flair for that sort of thing. There was this one time he wouldn’t stop talking about how his bag matched his belt…”

Zuko holds up one hand. “Stop. I don’t even want to know.”

She smiles and sips her tea. They sit in silence for a moment, and she realizes that it is her turn to pay him to pay him some small respect. She wracks her brain come up with something, but the only obvious thing to comment on is the one the thing she is hoping to avoid.

He breaks the silence before she can speak. “Despite your modesty about your own aesthetic taste, tell me: what do you think of this coat? I’ve had many compliments on it when I’ve worn it to meetings in the North.”

Inwardly she curses. Her hand stutters for an instant before she raises her cup to her mouth and smiles benignly before taking a sip. “It’s very nice.”

He runs a hand over the fur at one wrist, eyeing it casually. “You think so? I could never tell if the Northerners were just being polite. I suppose it is a little out of date.”

She tries to act equally as casual, banking on the outside possibility that this is just a simple conversation and not a clever ploy. “Have you had it for long?”

He shrugs. “Oh, quite some time. Almost sixty years, in fact.”

“Is that so? You must have taken very good care of it for it to last so long.”

She chances a glance at him and sees that there is laughter in his eyes. “I have, though the credit should go to the high quality of the craftsmanship. It’s one of the finest things I have ever owned.”

She feels the trap close around her; the chance that this is just an exchange of pleasantries has diminished drastically. But there’s only one way to know for sure. “That is impressive indeed, all things considered. Where did you get it?”

“That’s quite the mystery, actually. On the morning of my coronation, I found a large package addressed to me just sitting in the hallway. There was no note and no one in sight to indicate who might have left it there. When I opened it, inside was this coat.”

She is caught and she knows it. “Who do you think might have left such a thing?”

“I can’t say for certain… But I have a theory.”

She braces herself. “You do?”

His expression turns wistful. “Mmhmm. There was a girl I knew back then, she was compassionate and strong and beautiful. We didn’t always get along, but she was able to look past my faults and mistakes and see me for who I was. She was the best friend that I ever had. And perhaps I am simply becoming sentimental in my old age, but when I think back on it now, I think she may have loved me, once.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and lets out a long breath. A heaviness that she didn’t know had existed lifts from her chest and leaves her feeling free. There was no sense in denying it now, to him or to herself. She opens her eyes and sets down her cup, carefully reaching across the distance that separates them to gently lay a hand over the left side of his face. His eyes fall closed and he leans into her touch.

“She still does.”

His eyes open at her words, and he takes her hand from his face, holding it between his own. His hands are as warm as she remembers, though the skin feels thin and dry. “Why didn’t you ever say so?”

“The moment was never right. It took me a while to figure it out, and then when I did, it was already too late.” She gestures at his coat. “I had actually planned to say something when I gave you that.”

He looks confused. “But you never gave it to me. I found it in the hallway.”

She can feel her cheeks flame with embarrassment. Might as well tell him everything. “I may have accidentally left it there after seeing you reunite with Mai. Between the coronation and the reception and leaving early the next morning, I never had a chance to go back and look for it. I had hoped that a servant had found it and that you would never know. Seems I inherited some of Sokka’s bad luck on that one.”

His face falls and his good eye goes wide. “You’re joking.”

She shakes her head. One of his hands leaves hers and meets his forehead with a loud smack. He shakes his head and to her surprise he begins laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

He looks at her from between his fingers. “Do you remember when I showed you that note that was supposed to go with the panda lilies?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“I told you I had a speech prepared to go along with it. I was going to ask you to stay with me in the palace, at least until I was healed. I didn’t know how you felt about me at the time, but had hoped that in the time it took me to recover you might start to feel the same way that I did.”

The realization hits her like a blow to the chest. There are a dozen emotions that vie for prominence in her mind. The first is disbelief that such a missed opportunity could occur, and the confirmation that Sokka’s luck does indeed run in the family. The second is an intense and painful regret over what could have been, the years that they could have spent together and the happiness that they could have shared. The final emotion is a sense of resignation that there’s no use in being dragged down by what-ifs; there’s no changing the past. She thinks of her children and the time she spent with Aang, and her sorrow is tempered by the thought that despite it all, she isn’t sure she would change it, even if she could.

There’s nothing left to do but laugh right along with him. Her palm meets her forehead as well, and she squeezes his hand as they laugh together until the tea turns cold.

When their laughter dies down, he reheats the tea in their cups and gives her a careful look. “Uncle once told me that destiny is a funny thing, and it appears that he was right. This may be an appropriate time to confess that I have an ulterior motive for coming to visit you.”

She gives him a wry smile. “You aren’t just here to spy on the Southern Water Tribe?”

He chuckles. “No. It’s true that I’ve retired as Fire Lord, but to say that I’ve retired completely isn’t altogether true. I’ve agreed to serve as a peace ambassador for the Fire Nation. The world has always seen its share of discontent, but since Aang’s death it has increased without active intervention. I think we took for granted how well he did his job and how crucial he was to maintaining balance in the world. Either way, I had planned to take some time off and relax before taking on this new role. However, I’m not nearly as diplomatic as Aang ever was, and being the former Fire Lord may not endear me to some people, despite decades of peace. My first destination will be to set a course for the Northern Water Tribe to renew trade negotiations and to encourage the creation of new supply routes. Which leads me to the secondary point of my visit. I had planned to ask if you would like to accompany me on my journey.”

Her heart soars at the suggestion. She has not left the south since her arrival almost four years ago, and she would love to visit her brethren in the North. Not to mention that she would have the opportunity to spend more time with Zuko. Though she can’t help but wonder…. “You didn’t just decide to invite me along now that you know about the coat, did you? This isn’t some belated attempt to make up for lost time, is it?”

He has the grace to look scandalized. “Perish the thought.” But then he raises his hand to rest over his heart. “On my honor, I had planned to ask you to join me before I even left the Fire Nation. I simply wanted to enjoy the pleasure of your company and benefit from the quality of your advice.”

She is shrewd enough to notice the deft way that he skirted her second question, but decides not to call him on it. Instead she just smiles and sips her tea. “I would love to go with you, Zuko.”

He grins, and for a moment she can picture the young man who taught her to feed turtleducks. “I’m happy to hear you say that.” He raises his tea cup. “To new adventures.”

She clinks her cup against his, and she holds his gaze over the rim of her cup as they both take a drink.


	11. Chapter 11

As the days pass her excitement grows. They enjoy tea together in the mornings, and in the afternoons she shows him her favorite places in town. Before dinner he watches as she gives instruction in waterbending, alternating lessons between combat styles and healing techniques. In the evenings she eats meals with him and once he has bid her goodnight she returns home and frets over what to pack. She can’t be sure exactly how long she will be gone, but the trip alone will take weeks by ship. He tells her not to worry, there will be room in her cabin for as much or little as she would like to bring, and they can shop for anything she might have forgotten at the number of ports that they will visit along the way.

Three days before they are scheduled to depart, she is demonstrating to her advanced students the proper way to extract poison from the human body while Zuko watches with interest from a seat along one wall. She is drawing a stream of water from the training dummy when one of the tribal leaders bursts into the lodge.

“Master Katara! Chief Tonraq needs to see you right away! It’s about Korra!”

Her water splashes to the ground. “What’s happened? Is she okay?” In her peripheral vision she sees Zuko get to his feet.

“I don’t know, he just told me to find you and that it was urgent! Please come with me.”

She and Zuko exchange looks before hurrying after him out into the cold. Zuko keeps pace with her. “Korra is the chief’s daughter?”

“Yes, she just became one of my waterbending pupils a month ago. She’s missed her past few lessons because she’s been sick. I thought it was just a chest cold, but now I’m not so sure…”

They follow a familiar path until they reach the home of the chief. Their breath clouds up in front of them in thick bursts as she knocks on the door. When it opens, Tonraq stands there looking dazed.

Katara doesn’t waste time with pleasantries and gets right to the point. “What’s happened, Tonraq? Is Korra alright?”

He ushers Katara and Zuko inside. When the door closes, Tonraq’s gaze shifts between the two of them. “I don't know how to say this, but I think… I think my daughter might be the Avatar.”

Zuko takes a step backward. “What?”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know. She’s been sick, but she’s recovering. Her fever is gone, all that’s left are some sniffles and a cough. But this morning, as she and her mother were eating breakfast, she sneezed. She sneezed _fire_. Senna said that it scared Korra something awful; she started crying. I haven’t seen it myself, but… do you think it’s possible?”

“Is she here?” Zuko asks.

“Yes, she’s just in the other room." He raises his voice and calls gently over his shoulder.  "Korra, sweetie, could you come out here please? There are some people who would like to meet you!”

Korra toddles into the living room, clinging to her mother’s skirts. She looks ashamed and Katara’s heart practically breaks when she speaks up in a tiny voice. “Am I in trouble?”

Her mother smooths her hair. “No, sweetie, you aren’t in trouble.”

Zuko looks at Tonraq and Senna. “May I?” Senna nods and Zuko crouches down so that he in on her level. “Hi, Korra. My name is Zuko. I’m a friend of Master Katara’s. She tells me you’ve just started waterbending, is that true?”

She nods eagerly and hops away from her mother’s side. “Waterbending is so much fun! Someday I’m going to be the best waterbender ever!”

Katara suppresses a laugh; she has seen this display more than once during lessons. “She _is_ quite talented, even for a beginner.”

Zuko smiles warmly at Korra. “Waterbending does look like fun, but I can’t do it. Do you know why?” Korra shakes her head. “It’s because I’m a firebender. I can do this instead.” He opens his palm and a small flame dances above it.

Korra eyes light up and she watches the fire with fascination. “Cool...”

He continues. “Sometimes, people can bend more than one element. Would you like to try?” She nods enthusiastically. “Okay, I’ll show you how. But you must promise to be very careful. Fire can hurt you and people around you. Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay, watch me.”

Korra’s eyes watch him intently, while the rest of the group is focused on her. Katara holds her breath as Korra focuses on her hand and tries to produce a fire in her palm.

Nothing happens.

She stomps her foot. “It isn’t working! I can’t do it!”

“It can be hard at first. Try again. Take a deep breath, just like Master Katara taught you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and inhales deeply, holding her palm out in front of her. When she exhales, a tiny burst of flame appears over her hand before fizzling out, leaving behind a puff of smoke.

Her eyes shoot open. “Did I do it?”

Zuko smiles and stands up. “You did. Well done.”

“Mom!! Did you see me? I made _fire_! I’m going to be the best waterbender _and_ the best firebender in the _whole world!”_

Katara stares in disbelief as Zuko settles in next to her. In the edge of her vision she can see him wipe discreetly at his good eye. His hand comes up and rests on her shoulder. “It’s her, Katara. It’s really her.”

She feels herself nod, but her mind is a thousand miles away. She hears Zuko instruct Tonraq to contact the White Lotus Society as soon as possible to inform them that the next Avatar has been found.

As they leave the chief’s home, Zuko offers his arm and they walk down the road together in silence, both caught up in the magnitude of the afternoon’s events. Suddenly Zuko snorts. “Uncle was right. Destiny _is_ a funny thing. I’m sure he is laughing at the irony of this from the spirit world.”

“The fact that you were there again when the Avatar was found, or the fact that you taught her her first firebending move?”

“Both. I’ll have to ask my men if there are any volunteers to stay behind and give her basic instruction until the White Lotus Society arrives. I don’t want to be responsible for her burning down the chief’s house. That wouldn’t be very good for international relations.”

Katara smiles at the thought. “You were good with her. Very patient.”

He shrugs. “I raised a firebender. A similar situation played out when my daughter showed her fist signs of bending ability, actually.”

“You must have been a good father.”

She had only meant to pay him a sincere compliment, but when he thanks her in a voice that is thick and rough, her mind travels back to decades past when she had watched him curl in on himself in a tub full of steaming water, weighed down heavy with the fear that he might truly be his father’s son. He had since proved this to be untrue in a multitude of ways, but she smiles with satisfaction thinking that perhaps he had finally proven it to himself.

He squeezes her arm and clears his throat. “I suppose you had better start unpacking. You’re going to have a lot of work to do, training the Avatar.”

“Well if it’s anything like training the last one – wait, unpacking? What do you mean?” Her heart sinks; in all of the excitement she had not even considered what this might mean for her travel plans.

“You’re her teacher, Katara. Even if you hadn’t met her yet, even if she had been born somewhere else, you’d still be her teacher. It was meant to be that way.”

She sputters, not yet ready to let go of her plans. “But it would only be for a few months, I could still go with you – “

He stops and takes a hold of her shoulders. He gives her a sad smile. “No. She’ll need you here, to guide her from the start. The White Lotus members will be here soon, and it’s your job to advocate for her.”

She searches her heart and knows that he is right. As much as she wants to go with him, she can never turn her back on people who need her, and she knows that right now she is needed here the most. She had wanted to be present to reconnect with the new Avatar, and now she had her wish. Even if it feels like the universe is being grossly unfair, she has to embrace this opportunity, even though it means letting another one go.

She sighs heavily and smiles at him. “Thank you for understanding, Zuko.”

Three days later his crew has completed the preparations to sail north. Shortly after sunrise, she makes her way to the docks to say her goodbyes. To her displeasure, a small crowd has assembled to see the ship off; she had hoped this would be more of a private affair. As she approaches, she can see Tonraq shaking Zuko’s hand while Senna stands by holding Korra. Just as when he arrived, she pushes her way to the front of the crowd, and his eyes light up when he sees her.

He cocks his only eyebrow at her. “It’s about time. I was beginning to wonder if you would bother to get out of bed and show up.”

“If you firebenders would sleep in for once, perhaps I might have been on time.”

He shakes his head. “Nice try. But this is about the tides, not my habit of rising with the sun.”

“If you say so.” Her smile falters a little. Looking at him now, there are so many things she wants to say, but she is aware that they have an audience. “So I guess this is goodbye.”

His face crumples a little and he opens his arms, pulling her in. She closes her eyes against the warmth that radiates from him and she buries her nose in his chest. She whispers so that only he can hear. “Are you sure I can’t come with you?”

His breath is warm against her ear. “Don’t tempt me.”

She knows that she should let him go, but she can’t, not yet. “We’ve never really said goodbye to each other. Not like this. It’s harder, this way.”

He nods against her hair and his arms tighten around her. “Yes, it is. But it’s better, too. It’s honest.”

She feels a sob threaten to bubble out of her throat, but she swallows it. Reluctantly, she pulls back. “Be safe. Write to me at least once a week. And… come back once in a while. I could use your help with Korra.” She curses herself for not being able to say what she wants.

He nods. “I will. I promise.” He leans down and presses his lips lightly against her forehead, and then he pivots and quickly makes his way aboard the ship. Once the bow is secured, she can hear him command the crew to weigh anchor.

She keeps her eyes on his as the ship starts to pull away. A sense of dread builds rapidly in her chest, and she knows that if she lets him go like this she will carry the regret with her for the rest of her days. She doesn’t stop to think, she just acts.

When she takes a running leap off of the side of the dock, she can hear startled citizens calling her name in dismay. She ignores them as she weaves her hands through the air and lands neatly on an ice platform of her own creation. She flings her arms behind her and propels the ice through the water, catching up to the ship with ease. When she is within range, she pulls the water around her, causing it to spiral upward. It feels a bit like flying, and it feels free. When she lets go the water falls away and she lands gracefully on the deck.

The arctic air feels good in her lungs as she pants slightly. She smiles and says to no one in particular, “Wow. I haven’t done that in ages.”

Zuko is jogging toward her, his good eye wide with shock. “Katara! What are you doing?! We agreed that you would stay and train Korra!”

She rolls her eyes at him. “And I will. I just realized that I forgot to give you something.”

Confusion is written all over his features. “Couldn’t it wait?”

“No, it couldn’t.”

With that, she steps toward him and gently places her hands on either side of his face. She gives him one long look before pulling him down and softly pressing her lips against his own. His hand feels warm against her face when he brings it up to caress her cheek. The kiss is gentle and chaste but does nothing to betray the passion underneath. When she pulls away, he blinks a few times before breaking out into a grin.

She grins back at him. “There. Now _that_ was honest.”

He shakes his head at her, but he can’t seem to stop smiling. “Girls are crazy.”

She reaches out to squeeze his hand one last time. “Bye, Zuko.”

He squeezes back. “Goodbye, Katara.”

She jogs to the edge of the deck and hops over, calling the sea to catch her. As she lands on her slab of ice, she laughs as she hears Zuko shout good-naturedly at his crew. _“Shows over, back to work!”_

She is greeted at the docks with stares from her tribe members. She refuses to be embarrassed or ashamed. Instead she just puts on her most dignified face. “What, haven’t you ever seen a master waterbender before?”

And with that she calmly strides back toward her home. As she walks, she tries to memorize the way that he looked and the sound of his voice, because despite his promises, a feeling deep in her gut tells her that this is the last time she will see him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valar morghulis, folks.

Katara likes to be right, but not about this.

As promised, hawks with red ribbons find their way to her on a weekly basis for many years. They come without delay and without exception: even when he is in remote parts of the world; even when he is clearly exhausted and the characters on the page are hastily printed; even when he falls so ill that he has to return to the Fire Nation for a month to recuperate. He updates her on his location as well as requests her advice on the matters he faces as he meets with various officials from all over the world. He asks about the Avatar’s training and if there are any ways that the Fire Nation can contribute to the task. When she is lucky and his travels by ship are particularly long and dull, he shares stories with her: of his childhood, of captaining a ship at the age of thirteen, of his marriage, of parenthood, of being the Fire Lord. There is no clear reason why he chooses to share one story over another, but she finds that she is greedy for them and is disappointed when they are not included. Despite her excitement when one arrives, reading them always leaves her with a strange feeling afterward; the tales he tells fill in the gaps of her knowledge and she is left with the sensation that despite how close she feels to him it will never be close enough.

There are a few times he schedules visits, but the universe manages to prevent each one: uprisings in the east, tensions in the north, illness and famine and the outbreak of dark spirits. By the time the last of these occurs, she almost has to laugh at the barriers that have been put in the path of their friendship over the course of a lifetime, and she supposes that this is just one more. He promises her that as soon as travel in the south is safe again he will come to visit her; after all, he never gives up without a fight. But she can tell by the feeling in her bones and the shaky quality of the characters on the page that it won’t be long before the letters stop coming altogether.

She thinks she is prepared for the hawk that comes down from the sky with a black ribbon fluttering behind it.

She is not.

She leaves the South Pole for the first time in years on the back of her son’s sky bison. Tenzin tries to engage her in conversation from time to time, but she finds that she has little to say. Or rather, there is little that she _can_ say. There is no way to explain to her son the complicated and intense emotions that course through her as they make their way toward warmer waters, so she finds it best to remain silent.

When they arrive at the Fire Nation palace, it has been transformed; though this time she is not ignorant of the meaning of the white banners that are draped from the high walls that surround the palace grounds. The capital is thick with people from all nations awaiting the events to come later in the day. As Tenzin leads her closer to the entrance, Katara notices the smoke that curls up from the ground and seems to cloud around the base of the wall. At first she is alarmed, but as they approach the crowd thins enough for her to see its source. Hundreds of miniature vigils line the base of the wall. Incense sticks trail blue smoke in the air, and small portraits of the former Fire Lord in his youth are propped up with pieces of fruit and other mementos. Her heart aches at the sight of them, but she smiles through the tears that build behind her eyes at the thought that he had more support than he probably knew.

The ceremony is held at sunset. The coronation plaza is crowded, but as she listens to the Fire Sages deliver his eulogy, she has never felt so alone. They speak of his great deeds and accomplishments, and she feels an irrational anger build in her chest as the list goes on. She wants to shout that his life was more than great works and acts of diplomacy. His life was also pain and laughter and included mistake after mistake. He was warmth and anger and bitterness and love. She wants to scream at them for focusing on the things that he did, not the man that he was. But most of all she wants to rage that a part of him, no matter how small, was hers. And now it is gone.

She tries to remain stoic when the Fire Sages ascend the dais, but she can’t help but flinch and look away when they release jets of flame from their fists. She huddles closer to Tenzin and waits for the intensity of the heat to recede before taking her eyes off of the ground. Even when she does, her eyes avoid the fire itself, choosing to focus instead on the smoke that billows into the darkening sky and the sparks that look like dying stars.

When the last of the crowd has filed out of the plaza, she asks Tenzin to take her to her guest room in the palace so that she may rest. It is only after the door is closed safely behind her that she truly allows herself to mourn. She chokes on the memory of him, of the boy who betrayed her trust only to earn her love instead. She endures the memories as they flood her senses, from the fights to the silence to the tenderness to the smiles. In the end her eyes are swollen and her throat and head ache from the sorrow she has allowed to possess her. When it finally passes she sighs deeply, feeling as though she had finally been able to set down a heavy load.

In the morning, she gathers her belongings and waits for Tenzin in the gardens. It is probably just her imagination, but even the turtleducks seem listless as she tosses bits of a roll from breakfast into the water. When she hears footsteps from behind her she thinks that Tenzin must finally be ready to take her home.

“Master Katara?”

Her heart drops and her blood freezes at the sound of that voice, _his_ voice. Her head whips around and an irrational disappointment pierces her chest when she sees a young man in a military uniform carrying a large box under one arm. He bows at the waist and introduces himself.

“General Iroh, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

When he stands back up he is smiling warmly, and though the features aren’t quite the same, she thinks for a moment that she can picture what Zuko might have looked like in his youth if the events in the crystal catacombs underneath Ba Sing Se had gone a little differently. The thought of it makes her feel dizzy. She puts a hand on the ground to confirm that the earth is not sliding out from under her.

“Master Katara? Are you alright?”

She clears her throat as her thoughts start to become coherent again. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” She makes a move to get up, but falters. Her embarrassment knows no bounds. “I’m sorry to ask, but would you mind giving me a hand?”

He rushes to set down the box he is holding before helping her off of the ground. Taking her arm, he leads her to the stone bench near the pond and helps her sit down.

“It’s good to meet you, General. My condolences on the passing of your grandfather. He was an honorable man, and one of my best friends.”

“Thank you. He spoke very fondly of you.”

She smiles a little sadly. “I appreciate your saying so.” She glances at the box beside her. It is long and narrow, and the high gloss on the mahogany gleams in the sun. A braided red silk cord with tasseled ends is wound around the center and tied in an intricate knot. Along one side she can see an engraved brass plate featuring a keyhole. “What’s in there?”

“I don’t know, actually. It’s for you.”

She makes a face. “For me?”

“Yes. My mother asked me to make sure you received this, per my grandfather’s wishes. She regrets not being able to present it to you herself.”

Katara can’t help but picture the little girl with the delicate features and the tiny crown in her hair. Though she may be a grown woman now, Katara knows what she must be feeling as she mourns the loss of her father. “I completely understand. Please give her my warmest regards.”

At this moment she hears Tenzin call for her. “Mother?” She turns and sees him coming down the path. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Everything is ready to go. Oh, General Iroh! Good to see you again, despite the circumstances.”

They exchange pleasantries for a moment but Katara isn’t listening. She eyes the box by her side and wonders what it could possibly contain. She is startled out of her musings when her son lays a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you ready to go, Mother?”

She takes one last look at the gardens and sighs. “Yes, I think I am.” Tenzin hefts the box under one arm and offers her the other.

They wander through the palace halls and she finds that the grandeur of it impresses her still. When they pass through the corridor featuring larger-than-life depictions of past Fire Lords, her feet slow to a stop in front of Zuko’s. Her son indulges her as she stares up at the portrait and smiles.

“Bye, Zuko.”

Reluctantly she turns to continue down the hall, but she hears a familiar voice call for her. “Master Katara!”

General Iroh is jogging down the hall in their direction, his boots echoing against the high ceilings. When he approaches he reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope. “I almost forgot. You’ll need this.”

He hands it to her and she examines it. Her name is on the front and Zuko’s seal is stamped on the back. As she turns it over in her hands, she notices that it is heavy on one end.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the key to the box, so be careful not to lose it. I’m sorry for not giving it to you earlier. Again, it was nice meeting you and have a safe journey home.”

“Thank you General. The same to you.” She smiles and he give a small bow before he turns and heads back in the direction from which he came.

The ride home is another mostly silent affair, but this one she spends in quiet contemplation instead of despair. After ensuring that she has everything she needs and making a general fuss, Katara watches her son wave to her from the back of his sky bison on his way back to Air Temple Island. After she can no longer see him, she pulls up her hood around her ears and makes her way home.

The box is sitting on her bed where Tenzin had left it along with the envelope. She sits down next to it and runs a hand along its smooth surface. A strange anticipation settles over her as she considers the possibilities within; she desperately wants to know what it contains, but another part of her hesitates to open it: it is the last gift from him she will ever receive.

Curiosity wins out in the end, and she slowly tugs the red cord off from one end of the box and sets it aside, careful not to disturb the fancy knots. Picking up the envelope, she tears it open along one edge. It would have been a simple task to break the seal, but for some reason she feels the need to leave it intact. The key falls into her hand and she rolls it around in her palm before taking a deep breath and inserting it into the lock.

The lid whispers open along its hinges, and her free hand automatically gropes for the pendant at her throat. Inside the box, secured and displayed on a bed of red silk, are his twin broadswords.

A folded note is pinned to the inside of the lid. Careful not to damage the fabric, she unfastens it and begins to read.

_Katara,_

_When I was young, I once met a family along my travels that showed me great kindness by allowing me to sleep in their barn. They had a young son who took an interest in these swords. That night, I caught this young boy sneaking into my room to take them. Curious, I followed him out into a nearby field to see what he would do. After watching him struggle to wield them, I offered some basic instruction._

_I told him that it was a mistake to think of them as separate, because they are not. They are two halves of a single whole._

_I have known this principle since I first started training with broadswords as a child. Though they may move in different directions, though they may pass by one another, and though they may occasionally meet; they are never really apart. I have known this, but I had never really considered what it meant._

_It is only now, reflecting on the course of our friendship, that I think I finally understand._

_Zuko_

Her hand comes up to cover her mouth as she smothers a sob. She had thought she had emptied herself of grief, but she is surprised to find that the well of her feelings goes deeper than she ever knew. She curls in on herself and cries until she thinks there may be nothing left behind but a dried out husk. With blurry vision and trembling hands, she pins the note back into the lid of the box, and adds the envelope with his wax seal. Sniffing hard, she takes one last long look at the swords and is about to shut the lid when a stray thought occurs to her.

Her tears subside and she pushes herself off of the bed. She makes her way to the other side of the room where an old trunk sits nestled in the corner. Hastily, she kneels down and tosses aside the old papers and scrolls that are piled on top of it. After struggling with the rusted latch, she throws open the lid and begins digging frantically toward the bottom. Finally, her hands touch silk and she knows she has found what she was looking for.

In her youth she felt like a silly girl for keeping it, as an adult she had forgotten that she had it for a time, and in her old age she had rationalized that there was nothing wrong with preserving a memento from her days fighting in the war. But now, as she holds it out in front of her, she is grateful that she could never bring herself to throw it away.

The black silk robe is wrinkled and crushed, but besides that it is in perfect condition, except for a single tear in one sleeve, which had been stitched with care and black thread.

With a sense of reverence, she smooths the wrinkles to the best of her ability and refolds the robe so that it will lie flat. When she is finished she carries it back to the bed with her and gently places it inside the box. Looking at them together brings her a sense of bittersweet satisfaction. As soon as the lock clicks into place with the turn of the key, she suddenly feels very, very tired.

******

That night she dreams that she is back in the Earth Kingdom. She walks barefoot along the Outer Wall, and when she reaches out to run her fingers along the stones she is surprised to see that her hands are young and smooth. At her touch the stones fall away, crumbling to dust and leaving glimpses of the city beyond. She is tempted to touch them all, to bring down the whole wall, but a voice inside tells her to break apart only enough to see inside; the structural integrity must remain intact. Through the opening she has created she sees homes with open widows and curtains that dance in the breeze. People walk causally along cobblestone roads while in the distance children play in an open field. She watches with curiosity at the lives that go on without her, the lives that will never be hers on the other side of the wall. She leaves them behind and keeps walking.

She senses water nearby and as she continues she sees a lake up ahead. The surface of the water is calm and sparkles in the sunlight. When she reaches the shore, she tests the water with her toe and finds that it is warm. There is something that beckons her to step further into the water, something hidden beneath the surface that begs to be found. Without hesitation she wades further and further in until the lake swallows her whole.

She sinks to the bottom, her hair floating about her face. She expects to struggle for breath but she finds that she doesn’t need air, not here. Light filters in from the surface high above and illuminates the depths. Scanning the area she sees nothing but clear water; no fish or rocks or plant life. The emptiness should scare her but it doesn’t. Her feet sink into the soft floor of the lake as she walks.

At the center of the lake she sees a disruption in the flat surface of the sand. Instinctively she moves toward it. Reaching down, she touches the object that projects from the ground. After an instant’s hesitation, she wraps her fingers around it and tugs. It pulls free in her hand, sending up a cloud of sand and dirt in its wake. The cloud expands and blocks out the light coming from above, and suddenly she feels choked by the debris. She kicks her feet and swims for the surface, gasping when she reaches it, cold air filling her lungs.

She drags herself to the shore with the object still in hand. She flops onto the sand and takes a closer look at the thing that has caused her so much trouble. A grinning mask stares back at her with empty eye sockets. Though flakes of white and blue paint cling to the grain of the wood in places, most of the surface of the mask has been laid bare by the gentle erosion of water and time. She thinks it may have been magnificent, once.

She puzzles over what to do with it. She can’t wear it, the deterioration is too great. She could restore it, but she isn’t sure if she has the talent to do so. Besides, she has plenty of her own masks that require her attention. And yet she cannot throw it away. She feels connected to it somehow. She taps into that feeling, and instinctively she closes her eyes and holds the mask to her chest. It radiates warmth and the closer it is the more she feels full and complete. She feels ashamed that she has let reason unbalance her heart for so long, but she vows that the next time, she will not make the same mistake again. Her decision is made. With the mask in hand, she makes her way toward the setting sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it folks! We’ve reached the end! Now it’s time for…
> 
> Lengthy Author’s Notes to go with a lengthy story:
> 
> First and foremost, thanks to everyone for reading! If you liked it (or didn’t for that matter) I’d love to hear what you think!
> 
> As mentioned before, this was a gift for jesterry for the Zutara Secret Santa exchange. The prompts I was given were:
> 
> 1\. PaintedBlue  
> 2\. Promise (a song by Within Temptation)  
> 3\. Protect Me From What I Want (a song by Placebo)  
> 4\. “We could have had it all” (Old!ZK meet again. Angst)  
> 5\. Zuko afraid of his reflection in the mirror (which represents Ozai). 
> 
> These were kickass prompts. I couldn’t possibly pick just one. My biggest dilemma was… jesterry didn’t want any canon pairings. This put me in a difficult position, because how can one write Old!ZK angst without them? So I tried my best to keep them to a minimum and pay them basic respect (despite my shared aversion for them). Hope you aren’t disappointed, jesterry! 
> 
> I couldn’t quite incorporate the Within Temptation song, but there are plenty of other “promises” in this story. On a tangential note, Placebo is one of my favorite bands and I was so excited to see a song from them as a prompt. I’m showing my age here, but I’ve been a fan since they released “Without You I’m Nothing.” For those unfamiliar with them, I highly recommend you check them out. 
> 
> Note about this being canon-compliant(ish): I tried to stay as true to the animated canon as possible. I am FAR more familiar with AtLA than Korra, so hopefully the later details made enough sense. The one major deviation is that Zuko retires 10 years earlier in this story than he’s supposed to. That was actually an accident. I had spent two straight days writing the last three chapters (that would be about 10,000 words), and it was only after I was finished that I realized that Bryke didn’t let Zuko retire until he was like 85. I spent another day shaking my fists at the sky and considered scrapping the whole ending and starting over to make it canon-compliant, but in the end I decided I kind of liked it this way. I mean I know Zuko is a workaholic and everything, but let’s give the guy (and me!) a break, shall we? Also, I haven’t paid much attention to the comics. I haven’t read The Search, but I know they found Ursa and all that. Obviously I didn’t incorporate comic canon at all. 
> 
> And I had to riff on Dante voicing both Zuko and General Iroh. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> Anyway, when I planned this it was supposed to be around 5,000 words, max. Just little fragments. But I sort of lost all control, the power of Zutara compelled me to go on. Thanks again for sticking with me through the emotional roller coaster that is Zutara, and stop by and let me know what you think!


End file.
